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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25146670">a trip down memory lane</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_matter_of_loyalty/pseuds/a_matter_of_loyalty'>a_matter_of_loyalty</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, BAMF Katsuki Yuuri, Confident Katsuki Yuuri, Developing Relationship, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Katsuki Yuuri and Victor Nikiforov are Yuri Plisetsky's Parents, Light Angst, M/M, Pining Victor Nikiforov, Podium Family, Romance, Russian Skating Family, Self-Indulgent, Time Travel, Yurio loves his pseudo fathers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:54:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>18,143</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25146670</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_matter_of_loyalty/pseuds/a_matter_of_loyalty</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Katsuki Yuuri doesn’t believe in fairy tale endings. Or, at least, he didn’t used to—until he got his own happily ever after.</p><p>Blissfully married to the love of his life, Viktor Nikiforov (now Katsuki-Nikiforov), with whom he co-parents pseudo-son Yuri Plisetsky, Yuuri is prepared to live out the rest of his life in peace. Until a phone call from his frantic son-in-all-but-blood reminds him that even happy endings are littered with holes. </p><p>Devastated by the most recent tragedy in his life, Yuri Plisetsky clings on to his namesake, begging for a redo. A do-over. A second chance.</p><p>Neither of them believe it’s possible—until they find themselves waking up in a different time.</p><p>Now eight years in the past, a week before the disastrous Sochi Grand Prix Finals that hurtled both Yuris into their intertwined future, Katsuki Yuuri and Yuri Plisetsky must decide what they want to do.</p><p> </p><p>OR: Yet another time travel fic.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Christophe Giacometti &amp; Victor Nikiforov, Katsuki Yuuri &amp; Victor Nikiforov &amp; Yuri Plisetsky, Katsuki Yuuri &amp; Yuri Plisetsky, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Phichit Chulanont &amp; Katsuki Yuuri</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>279</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>867</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Storycatcher's Ice stash</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The day the heart monitor flatlines, marking the unraveling of Yuri Plisetsky’s world, the first person he calls is Katsuki Yuuri.</p><p>“Yurio?” Yuuri picks up on the third ring, a curious lilt to his voice. It’s no wonder—Yuri is rarely the one to initiate contact between the two rivals, instead preferring to keep his distance and maintain a practiced facade of indifference even if they both know it’s not real. “What’s going on?”</p><p>“Where are you?” Yuri rasps out instead of answering, fighting back a wave of despair so strong it knocks him to the floor. He doesn’t bother getting up again, his legs numb as he sits collapsed against the wall of the hospital room.</p><p>“I’m at the airport,” Yuuri replies, sounding confused. “Don’t you remember? Viktor’s flight lands in an hour or so.”</p><p>
  <em>Viktor.</em>
</p><p>Yuri didn’t, actually, remember—until now. “Oh,” he whispers, casting another fleeting glance at the empty hospital bed before he tears his gaze away forcefully, unable to bear the sight. “Oh. Right.”</p><p>Viktor flew out to visit Yakov a couple of weeks ago after the retired coach fell ill. Yuuri initially wanted to join him, but a few of his students qualified for the upcoming World Championships, and so Yuuri stayed home instead, throwing himself into his new job as a figure skating coach with renewed fervor.</p><p>Just yesterday, Viktor called to let them know that Yakov’s sickness had finally abated enough to allow Viktor to return home to his husband. Yuri <em>knows</em> how much Yuuri has been looking forward to Viktor’s arrival.</p><p>Yuuri did, after all, call Yuri in a fit of anticipation last night, talking Yuri’s ear off until the early hours of dawn. In fact, he was so excited at the prospect of Viktor coming back that Yuri doubted he slept at all, instead heading straight for the airport after Yuri finally hung up on him (at an ungodly hour, Yuri would point out to all who might ask).</p><p>“Yurio? Hello?” Yuuri prompts, and Yuri suddenly realizes that he’s been ignoring Yuuri for the last few minutes. “Did something come up?”</p><p>“I...” Yuri glances at the hospital bed again. The neatly pressed sheets, the fluffed pillows, the uncreased corners—all of it only serves to drive the point home. The bed is empty now, much like the gaping hole in his heart that only one person can fill.</p><p>But Yuuri has been missing Viktor—his <em>husband</em>—for weeks now.</p><p>Yuri knows that better than anyone. He <em>understands</em> that, even if he tends to get annoyed at the married couple whenever they flirt or make out in front of him.</p><p>“No, it’s nothing,” Yuri chokes out after a long moment of contemplation, and it feels like admitting defeat. His phone shakes minutely in his fumbling hands, but he doesn’t take it back. He <em>can’t</em>. As arrogant and all-important as he often acts, Yuri <em>hates </em>the thought of being a burden to Yuuri. More than anything, his stomach constricts at the idea of one day pushing hard enough to drive Yuuri away for good. “Never mind. I’ll call you back later. Tell the old man ‘hi’ for me, would you, Yuuri?”</p><p>Halfway across the city, Katsuki Yuuri freezes, his phone nearly slipping out of his grasp out of sheer shock. “Y-<em>Yurio</em>?” Yuuri stammers, recoiling. “Are you sure nothing happened?”</p><p>Because Yuuri doesn’t think Yuri has <em>ever</em> called him by his first name, save for perhaps during a heartfelt conversation at his and Viktor’s wedding that Yuri expertly pretended never happened the following day.</p><p>It has always been <em>Katsuki</em>, or <em>Pig </em>(on some occasions, when Yuri is feeling particularly attached but not knowing how to properly communicate it, <em>Piggy</em>), or <em>Loser,</em> or—Yuri’s personal favorite—<em>Katsudon</em>. On days where Yuuri frustrates Yuri more than usual, Yuri has even been known to tack on the nickname <em>Fatso. </em>Yuuri no longer minds, well aware by now that Yuri’s nicknames stem from a place of fondness, not contempt. But still, the fact stands: Yuri avoids calling him <em>Yuuri</em> like the plague.</p><p>Yuuri’s eyes narrow suspiciously when Yuri doesn’t immediately snap back with a witty jab or a biting remark.</p><p>(Where is the headstrong Yuri Plisetsky he knows? Where is the teenager—the <em>adult</em> now—who never hesitates to snarl at anyone he thinks is prying too deeply into his guarded life?)</p><p>Something is <em>wrong</em>.</p><p>“You’re worrying me, Yurio,” Yuuri admits openly; he has never believed in lying about his feelings, especially not to the people he cares about. Silence continues to reign on Yuri’s end, and Yuuri chews his lip anxiously. “Why did you call? Please talk to me.”</p><p>Hearing and <em>recognizing</em> Yuuri's blatant concern for what it is even despite the lacking quality of his phone’s speakers, Yuri <em>crumbles</em>, the last strands of his restraints snapping like twigs. The blond’s eyes fill with tears, and he claps one hand over his mouth as a strangled sob fights to break through.</p><p>Despite Yuri’s best efforts, Yuuri’s ears catch onto his cries instantly.</p><p>“Yurio? W-What?” Yuuri’s voice is clearly alarmed as he registers the situation. “Are you crying? What <em>happened</em>?”</p><p>Yuri says nothing in response, listening blankly as the background noises from the other end of the line recede into nothingness, presumably due to Yuuri moving somewhere more private.</p><p>“Yurio, <em>please</em> don’t shut me out,” Yuuri presses as soon as he is alone. He rakes a hand through his hair, pushing errant strands out of his eyes in a nervous tic he knows Viktor adores, much to his embarrassment. “Tell me what’s <em>wrong</em>.”</p><p>“<em>Yuuri</em>,”—the name they share tumbles from Yuri’s mouth yet again as his tears finally spill over—“I – I <em>can’t</em>—”</p><p>“Are you at home?” Yuuri asks urgently. Fear stampedes across his heart, rattling his ribcage. Before Yuri can even answer, Yuuri forges on recklessly, throwing all caution to the wind in a way Viktor would have been proud of (Viktor has always been the dramatic one among the two of them, after all, proving it over and over again with his actions, from flying across the world to Hasetsu to chase after Yuuri before they even really knew each other to inviting all of their competition to their wedding upon Yuuri’s gold medal win), “Stay there. I’m coming over.”</p><p>“I’m not – I’m not home right now,” Yuri barely manages to choke out. “Yuuri, <em>please</em>, I—”</p><p>“<em>Where are you</em>?”</p><p>“The – the hospital,” Yuri croaks.</p><p>On the other side, Yuuri stills completely, horror dawning on him immediately as his mind races to the only possible reason for Yuri to be calling him from the hospital like this, broken and sobbing like never before. It can’t be Yuri himself—Yuri doesn’t sound <em>pained</em>, but rather wrecked in a way that transcends any potential physical injury.</p><p>And if it isn’t Yuri, then...</p><p>“<em>Oh, Yura,</em>” Yuuri breathes, the nickname ‘Yurio’ fleeing him in his realization. There is no room for fun and games now, no room for inside jokes or friendly teasing. “I’m so sorry.”</p><p>Yuri knows he should end the call. He should tell Yuuri that he’ll be fine on his own and Yuuri can stay put. He’s dealt with enough tragedies on his own, after all, and Viktor should have someone there to greet him at the gate after two weeks spent away from his home.</p><p>There are so many things he <em>should</em> do.</p><p>(There are so many things that would be the <em>right</em> move.)</p><p>But no matter how hard he tries to pull the words out from where they’re stuck in his throat, Yuri can’t seem to find the strength to deny Yuuri’s help. And even though he knows <em>better</em>—even though the thought <em>stop being so selfish Yura, think about Viktor </em>thunders over and over again across his mind like a broken record—he can’t help himself when he buries his head in his hands and <em>weeps</em>, whimpering, “Can you come here? Please?”</p><p>“I’m on my way now,” Yuuri vows; Yuri believes him. True to his words, Yuuri is already beginning to turn tail and run, feeling immensely grateful that he chose to wait for Viktor at a cafe near the front instead of further inside the airport. Luckily, it’s still early in the morning, the first rays of light only just starting to fragment the sky, so when Yuuri comes to a skidding stop at the taxi stand outside, there isn’t a queue yet. “Do you want me to stay on the line?”</p><p>“I...” Yuri’s voice quivers, his mind torn. For so long, he’s maintained the image of a man who needs no one but himself; someone who is endlessly strong and stubborn and <em>independent</em>. He has never so much as <em>stumbled</em> before, his gaze always fierce and determined as he tramples mercilessly over anyone who dares stand in his path.</p><p>Yuri has always, <em>always</em> believed that he <em>needs</em> to wear that mask of unwavering courage if he wants to be respected.</p><p>For Yuri Plisetsky, the correct answer to a question like the one Yuuri just asked him should be <em>no</em>.</p><p>“I...”</p><p>On any normal day, at least, the answer <em>would</em> be <em>no</em>.</p><p>“Yura?” His name rolls off Yuuri’s tongue like a reassurance. A <em>promise</em>.</p><p>Yuri doesn’t need to pretend anymore, he realizes. Not with <em>Yuuri</em>.</p><p>(Beyond that, he doesn’t <em>want</em> to pretend.)</p><p>“Yes,” he answers with finality, fingers squeezing his phone tightly in his grip. It’s stupid, he <em>knows</em> it is, but Yuri doesn’t want to be alone right now. And for some unexplainable, <em>unfathomable</em> reason, Yuuri’s voice has always comforted him. “<em>Please</em>.”</p><p>“Okay,” Yuuri murmurs, his judgement of Yuri never slipping, “<em>okay</em>.”</p><p>“Yuuri…” Yuri whispers, trembling. If Yuri Plisetsky’s name in Katsuki Yuuri’s voice was a promise, then <em>Yuuri’s</em> name in <em>Yuri’s</em> voice is a prayer. An earnest, vulnerable—<em>desperate</em>—prayer. “<em>Thank you.</em>”</p><p>“Of course,” Yuuri replies like it isn’t a big deal—like he didn’t immediately drop <em>everything</em> without a second thought just so he can <em>be there </em>for <em>Yuri</em>; like he didn’t willingly and unquestioningly set his own interests aside for <em>Yuri’s</em> sake; like the assurance of his constant presence in Yuri’s life, despite their rough start, doesn’t mean <em>everything</em> to Yuri. (It does. It means the <em>world</em>.)</p><p>Unaware of Yuri’s inner turmoil, Yuuri smiles on the other end, effortlessly offering comfort even from where he’s climbing aboard a taxi miles away. “<em>Always</em>, Yura.”</p><p>Yuri raises his stare to the ceiling, dim aquamarine eyes searching for something that <em>isn’t there</em>, and cries to the sound of Yuuri’s soothing whispers coming from the crackling speakers of his phone.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>When Yuuri finally barges into Nikolai Plisetsky’s hospital room twenty minutes later, chest heaving from the effort of sprinting through the busy hospital halls, it is to find Yuri huddled in one corner of the room, lithe body curled into a fetal position as he hides his head in his knees, his phone on loudspeaker on the floor beside him.</p><p>Yuuri’s heart <em>breaks</em>.</p><p>In the span of the next two seconds, he takes in the empty hospital bed, barren of everything but two pillows and its ironed sheets, and his heart breaks a second time.</p><p>“Oh, <em>god</em>, Yura,” Yuuri whispers, as though he fears that if he speaks too loudly he’ll send Yuri spiraling into insanity. He kicks the door shut behind him for privacy, and then quickly hangs up and shoves his phone into his pocket before he rushes over towards his friend.</p><p>“<em>Yura</em>?” Yuuri asks softly, kneeling beside the younger man. Yuri doesn’t seem to even register his voice, so Yuuri takes in a deep breath and tries again, patient and gentle, “It’s me, Yuuri. I’m here.”</p><p>Much to Yuuri’s abject relief, Yuri finally lifts his head weakly, red-rimmed eyes meeting Yuuri’s. “Yuuri?” he gasps through a new onslaught of tears. “You – you <em>came</em>.”</p><p>It isn’t a question. Even if a part of Yuri still <em>believes</em> he should have forced Yuuri to stay at the airport for Viktor, <em>all of him </em>had <em>known </em>from the second he uttered the word ‘hospital’ that Yuuri would have come no matter what.</p><p>“Of course I did,” Yuuri answers him regardless. “There’s no way I wouldn’t have. Not when—”</p><p>“What about Viktor?” Yuri cuts in before Yuuri can broach the subject and make it <em>real</em>, in the sort of unavoidable way Yuri isn’t yet ready for. He’s not in <em>denial</em>, not really, but... he doesn’t want to have to <em>accept</em> his new reality. His heart twinges in agony at the mere thought. “You told him you’d be there at the airport when he landed. He’ll be looking for you.”</p><p>“No, he won’t.” Yuuri shakes his head. “I texted him on the way here. He’ll understand when he receives the message.”</p><p>“Oh,” Yuri mumbles.</p><p>Yuuri reaches out and covers Yuri’s bridged hands with his own. Yuri startles at the gesture, but tellingly doesn’t pull away. (A few years ago—maybe even one year ago—he <em>would have. </em>It speaks wonders about how far their relationship has progressed that Yuri is no longer afraid to let Yuuri in.)</p><p>“Like I said, I’m <em>here</em> for you, Yura,” Yuuri promises. “I’m here.”</p><p>Yuri looks Yuuri in the eyes—and when he does, what he sees is every iota of worry, sincerity, and <em>compassion</em> Yuuri holds for him. Every single ounce of <em>caring.</em></p><p>Katsuki Yuuri is a godsend, Yuri thinks.</p><p>As far as the public is concerned (and by ‘the public’, he means both their respective fans and even other skaters), they have never gotten along well. Yuri rarely lets people see past the stone wall he has long since erected around his heart, after all. Because of that, whenever they are around others—even, sometimes, if it is only Viktor—Yuri often turns his back on Yuuri, only ever sparing him the occasional snide insult.</p><p>It’s only when they’re alone that Yuri opens up, allowing Yuuri the rare honor of witnessing the true Yuri Plisetsky. When it is only the two of them, Yuri offers Yuuri smiles instead of scowls, laughs instead of angry yells, whispered secrets instead of explosive Russian profanities, warmth instead of the cold shoulder.</p><p>And yet…</p><p><em>And yet</em>, despite <em>everything</em>, despite all of the many and varied ways Yuri chooses to scorn Yuuri in front of others, Yuuri has <em>never</em> given up on him.</p><p>It is <em>Yuuri</em> who was there when the doctors first diagnosed Yuri’s beloved grandfather with cancer. It is <em>Yuuri</em> who immediately, without even needing to think twice about it, invited Yuri to stay with him and Viktor at their shared apartment in St. Petersburg so Nikolai wouldn’t have to worry about his grandson while undergoing treatment and so Yuri would always have someone with him. It is <em>Yuuri</em> who went out of his way to adopt a cat—a gorgeous, long-haired Siamese cat—one day in the hopes of bringing a smile to Yuri’s face for the first time since they learned of his grandfather’s illness. (His plan had absolutely worked, culminating in Yuri cooing over his new pet—lovingly named <em>Sasha—</em>and then vehemently denying it the next day.)</p><p>It is <em>Yuuri</em> who welcomed Yuri into the Katsuki-Nikiforov family with open arms and a fond smile, going above and beyond simply to ensure that Yuri always felt at home.</p><p>And it is <em>Yuuri</em> who is here (for <em>him</em>) now that Yuri’s grandfather has finally passed on.</p><p>“Thank you,” Yuri croaks out for the second time, face crumpling in misery. His grandfather is gone, and Yuri is <em>tired</em>. He can’t find the strength or energy to keep denying everything he knows is true—that Yuuri and Viktor both care about him, against all odds—and keep Yuuri at arm’s length when all he wants to do is let <em>someone else</em> take the reins for once. “Yuuri, I... Just, <em>thank you</em>—for <em>everything</em>.”</p><p>Crouched in front of the Russian skater, Yuuri’s eyes water at Yuri’s genuine gratitude. He doubts the words ‘thank you’ have ever exited Yuri’s lips before when he isn’t talking to his grandfather.</p><p>But Yuuri knows that right now, Yuri’s word of thanks comes hand-in-hand with his anguish, so he only shakes his head, pushing away the awe. “You don’t need to thank me,” he insists. “I just want to <em>help</em> you.”</p><p><em>Help me?</em> Yuri wonders quietly to himself, taking the sight of Yuuri in again. Yuuri, who is sitting on the floor of a hospital room with Yuri, not once even thinking of complaining even though his husband is expecting him all the way across the city. Yuuri, who has remained as Yuri’s staunchest supporter alongside his grandfather throughout Yuri’s career in the Senior Division, even back before Yuuri retired and they were still competing against one another.</p><p>Yuuri, whose faith in Yuri has never <em>once</em> wavered. (Even when Yuri stopped believing in himself, Yuuri never did.)</p><p>Yuri swallows. Of course Yuuri wants to help him. That was never in question.</p><p>“I know. That’s <em>why</em> I – <em>thank you</em>,” Yuri repeats, heedless of Yuuri’s request, deaf to everything but the roaring in his ears, the thudding of his heartbeat, the shattering of his entire world as its foundation (<em>his grandfather</em>) similarly collapses. “You <em>are</em> helping me.”</p><p>Yuuri’s gaze softens at once. “I said ‘always’, didn’t I? I meant that.”</p><p>Yuri’s breath hitches in his throat.</p><p>(This is not the first time Yuri becomes aware of just how <em>far </em>Yuuri will go to help him.)</p><p>(<em>“Always, Yura.”</em>)</p><p>(<em>“You know you can count on me for </em>anything<em>,” Yuuri swears, not even looking embarrassed to wear his heart on his sleeve; Viktor may be the more theatrical one between the two of them, but Yuuri has certainly never shied away from his feelings either. “Anything at all.”</em></p><p><em>Yuri, on the other hand, is nowhere near as comfortable with heart-to-hearts. He scowls and rolls his eyes in response to Yuuri’s claim, muttering something about </em>stupid sappy Katsudons<em> under his breath as Yuuri tinkles with laughter across him.</em></p><p>
  <em>Still, despite the farce of abhorrence he puts on, when Yuuri turns around to pet Makkachin happily, Yuri lowers his head and hides a small smile, his chest swelling with warmth.</em>
</p><p><em>Because, yes. He </em>does<em> know.</em>)</p><p>(<em>“It doesn’t </em>matter<em> what time it is,” Yuuri insists, briefly leaning down to drop a feather-light kiss onto Viktor’s forehead before he tiptoes out of the bedroom and into the kitchen as noiselessly as possible, so as to not wake up his husband. Without bothering to flick on any lights, Yuuri quickly fixes himself a glass of water, balancing his phone between his neck and his ear while he sips languidly at his drink.</em></p><p>
  <em>Yuuri’s brows furrow in concern when Yuri makes an aborted noise of protest from the other end of the line. Yuri did, admittedly, wake him up with his midnight call, but Yuuri isn’t upset. After all, Yuri was already deep in the throes of panic when Yuuri finally grew coherent enough to pick up the phone, only to learn that Yuri had woken up screaming from a nightmare for the first time since his grandfather was hospitalized.</em>
</p><p><em>“I want you to know that you can call me </em>whenever<em> you need me,” Yuuri cuts in firmly before Yuri can say anything, so unfaltering in his conviction that Yuri is silenced, “</em>whatever<em> it’s for.”</em></p><p><em>Yuri doesn't know it, but that call is what ultimately solidifies Yuuri's decision to ask Yuri to stay with him and Viktor while his grandfather receives treatment in hospital.</em>)</p><p>(<em>“…Thanks, Katsudon.”</em></p><p><em>“Anytime. I mean it.”</em>)</p><p>As the memories fade, returning Yuri back to a bleak world without his grandfather, his head falls back against the wall. Devastated but no longer <em>afraid</em>, Yuri closes his eyes and lets himself <em>break</em> for the second time, knowing for certain that Yuuri will catch him this time.</p><p>And indeed, catch him Yuuri does, wrapping his arms around his pseudo-son and holding him close as Yuri <em>sobs</em> into the crook of his neck.</p><p>“I don’t know if I can do this without him,” Yuri confesses, and though his voice is muffled by Yuuri’s skin, they can both hear the heartbreak in his words plain as day. “I can’t… I <em>miss </em>him so much, Yuuri.”</p><p>Yuuri blinks back his own tears, folding Yuri in even tighter. “I know,” Yuuri whispers, his voice cracking on the words. “I know you miss him.”</p><p>“I <em>need </em>him,” Yuri speaks it like it is a plea. He speaks it to Yuuri, to the empty space in his life his grandfather used to occupy, to the starless morning of St. Petersburg outside of this hospital, to the gods he never believed existed. “I loved—<em>love</em>—him more than anything.”</p><p>Yuuri swallows, his chest tightening painfully. “I know,” he repeats. He wishes there is something <em>more</em> he can do—something to help the man splitting apart at the seams in his arms.</p><p>“Do you think… do you think he knew?” Yuri asks quietly. When Yuuri looks down at him, small and vulnerable in his hold, he can’t recognize the now-twenty-three year old <em>adult </em>Yuri has grown into; instead, he looks at him and sees only the <em>child</em> inside Yuri, the innocent little boy terrified of living in a world without his grandfather. “That I love him?”</p><p>Yuuri inhales sharply. <em>God, he’s so young, </em>he thinks, a little desperately. <em>I wish I could protect him from this. I wish he didn’t have to lose anyone. He doesn’t deserve this.</em></p><p>“Yes,” he answers without a shadow of doubt. He hopes Yuri will hear the lack of doubt—the <em>conviction</em>—in his voice and hold onto it, <em>believe</em> it. “I do. I <em>know </em>he did, Yura.”</p><p>Yuri fists the thick fabric of Yuuri’s sweatshirt in his hands. “I wish I could tell him one more time,” he admits, and it’s everything Yuuri can do to stop himself from crying along with Yuri.</p><p>But Yuri doesn’t need that from him. What Yuri needs now is for him to be <em>strong </em>for him, to hold him up where he can’t hold <em>himself</em> up, to reassure him that the storm will one day pass.</p><p>“I wish… I wish I had another chance,” Yuri mumbles, almost inaudible. Even pressed together, Yuuri barely manages to catch his words. “I’d make sure he knew everyday.”</p><p>“Yura—”</p><p>“I just want to <em>see </em>him again, Yuuri,” Yuri says with the desperation of a man who has nothing left to lose. “And I <em>want</em> – I want to let him know how much I appreciate every single year he’s dedicated to me because I <em>do, </em>Yuuri, I’m <em>so</em> thankful for him. I want to skate for him again, to show him the world I loved and win him another gold medal. I want to finally nail his katsudon piroshki recipe just so I can be the one to surprise him this time. God, I want to hug him again, tight enough that he’ll complain about his bad back and call me <em>mindless</em>.”</p><p><em>Yura…</em> Yuuri grits his teeth to smother the sound of his own cries. <em>I’m so sorry.</em></p><p>“I want to return to all of that—to <em>before </em>cancer ruined us. That’s <em>all</em> I want,” Yuri whispers, not quite to Yuuri but rather into the space between them. “A second chance to make him <em>proud</em> again. <em>Happy</em> again.”</p><p><em>Instead of tired of all the treatments and losing hope in the possibility of survival, </em>is what Yuri doesn’t say.</p><p>He doesn’t need to; Yuuri hears the words anyway.</p><p>“I…” Yuuri closes his eyes and buries his face in Yuri’s hair, his tears escaping him despite his attempts to erase them and mingling with the Russian’s proud golden locks. “I want that, too. I wish you could have all of that.” <em>I wish you could be happy again, too, Yura.</em></p><p>Yuuri has not seen Yuri genuinely <em>smile </em>in so long. <em>Too</em> long.</p><p>He misses it—Yuri’s smile. He misses Yuri’s laugh, too.</p><p>He misses the way Yuri would tip back in his chair and chortle with amusement whenever Yuuri attempts to make Nikolai’s katsudon piroshki—only to fail terribly every single time.</p><p>He misses the way Yuri would snicker quietly, his nose scrunching up adorably (though don’t tell <em>Yuri</em> that), whenever Yuuri succeeds in beating another one of Viktor’s world records for the umpteenth time, causing Viktor to pout and stubbornly look away, as if he can possibly manage to ignore Yuuri for even ten minutes.</p><p>He misses the way Yuri would grin, smug and <em>pleased,</em> and chuckle breathlessly whenever he himself manages to over-score <em>both</em> Yuuri and Viktor and claim gold.</p><p>He misses the way Yuri would double over laughing, slapping his knees uncontrollably, every time he thinks up a joke he’s proud of, delivering the punchline with an expectant shine in his eyes and completely missing the unimpressed look Viktor and Yuuri would share over his head.</p><p>He misses the way Yuri’s mirth always, <em>always </em>reaches his eyes, turquoise irises gleaming with unadulterated, child-like joy. (Yuri is an ice-skating <em>monster</em> most of the time, never slacking and never allowing himself to enjoy his youth, but when he <em>laughs</em>... Those are the only times Yuri forgets his cold, single-minded pursuit of victory to simply let himself <em>live</em>.)</p><p>He misses the way Yuri<em> lights up</em> whenever he laughs.</p><p>And if a second chance can bring those cherished moments of bliss back, can give them <em>all </em>an opportunity to carve out more happy endings for everyone, then Yuuri wants that more than anything.</p><p>Because—</p><p>“Because you <em>deserve</em> that, Yura,” Yuuri whispers under his breath, hushed and reverent. <em>You deserve to be happy. </em>It’s no secret, after all, that Yuuri and Viktor both see Yuri as a son (and though Yuri refuses to let even a day go by without denying it vehemently with a glower and an <em>I’m not your goddamn son!, </em>Yuuri has never missed the plain affection in Yuri’s eyes whenever he looks at them), and after years of watching Yuri struggle to be himself and cast away all of the expectations Russia and the rest of the world have heaped on him, Yuuri <em>wants </em>that for him—<em>happiness</em>.</p><p><em>And whatever that takes… </em>“I wish we could go back to those days again,” Yuuri breathes<em>, </em>a murmur of hope and desire that is both fragile and resolute. <em>Whatever that takes, I’m all for it.</em></p><p>“Yeah,” Yuri mumbles. “Me, too.”</p><p>Five minutes later, his sweatshirt damp with tears and his back aching, Yuuri registers the steady, even breathing coming from the body still clinging to him and realizes that Yuri has cried himself to sleep, too tired after the day’s tragedy and too drained of everything but the memory of his grandfather. Slowly, carefully, Yuuri lifts the younger man off the floor, inwardly cursing his age (he isn’t as young as he used to be anymore, and nowhere near as fit), and carries him to the hospital bed.</p><p>Quickly texting Viktor an update and telling his husband to go home ahead of him, Yuuri climbs onto the bed as well and sits watchfully, staying as vigilant as he can until his all-nighter eventually catches up with him and he finds himself drifting off to slumber.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This was inspired by a number of time travel AUs I've read recently. They're all incredible, which made me a little nervous about writing my own, but here we are. As you can probably tell, this fic will focus quite a bit on Yuuri and Yuri's familial relationship (as well as, of course, the eventual Viktuuri because I love their relationship).</p><p>Anyway, thank you for reading! This is just the premise for now, but I hope you're enjoying it so far :) Feel free to drop a comment and tell me what you thought &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Yuuri</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Yuuri wakes up in the past.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Yuuri falls asleep to the sight of Yuri Plisetsky clutching the same sheets that once protected his father from the cold in a hospital room in St. Petersburg.</p>
<p>He wakes up to the blare of an alarm he doesn’t remember setting, his body jerking upright in a room he hasn’t slept in for years and a bed empty of Yuri. Yuuri groans and falls back into the mattress, squeezing his eyes shut.</p>
<p><em>I’m dreaming, </em>he thinks, because he must be. <em>This is all just a terrible dream.</em></p>
<p>A second groan echoes his. “<em>Yuuri,</em>” a voice that is both familiar yet eerily unfamiliar whines at him from across the room. “Turn off your alarm clock. <em>Please</em>.”</p>
<p>Yuuri freezes, peeking at a second bed on the other side of the room. Phichit Chulanont’s face peers back out at him from a tiny hole in the nest of blankets and pillows he’s built for himself. Phichit glares halfheartedly, “Some of us aren’t morning people, you know.”</p>
<p>Yuuri’s too fixed on Phichit’s appearance to pay attention. Because Yuuri is looking at a face he hasn’t seen in <em>years. </em>The years may have treated Phichit extraordinarily well, but even so he <em>has </em>aged over the years. Phichit’s life tells itself in the faint wrinkles that have gathered on his forehead and at the corners of his eyes, the heaviness in his cheeks when he isn’t smiling, the way his face starts to sag as the hours wear on, and his lighter complexion due to his tendency to stay indoors nowadays.</p>
<p>But now Phichit looks younger than ever, full of youth and energy. Even annoyed from being woken up by Yuuri’s alarm, he looks <em>fresh </em>in a way he hasn’t since his last competition before retirement.</p>
<p>Yuuri swallows. <em>Again, a terrible dream, </em>he repeats to himself. <em>Although, I guess it’s more weird than terrible.</em></p>
<p>Before he can react, a pillow swiftly slams into him, Phichit’s arm still outstretched from where he hurled the pillow at Yuuri’s head. “<em>Alarm</em>,” he repeats remorselessly even as Yuuri flips Phichit the finger. Phichit has never been able to function properly before ten.</p>
<p>Yuuri sighs but complies, reaching over to his bedside table and smacking the snooze button even if he knows that will only prolong the pain. <em>What kind of dream is this, </em>he rolls his eyes, <em>I thought dreams aren’t supposed to hurt—</em></p>
<p>Yuuri <em>freezes</em>, realization striking him like a bolt of lightning.</p>
<p>Dreams aren’t supposed to hurt.</p>
<p>
  <em>They aren’t supposed to hurt.</em>
</p>
<p>Except that pillow <em>did</em> hurt. It was only a faint sting, barely even an ache, but <em>it was there</em>.</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh, my god. This isn’t a dream.</em>
</p>
<p>Yuuri takes in a deep breath and… promptly <em>screams</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Please </em>tell me you’re joking,” Phichit says, rubbing his temple in disbelief. His initial irritation at being woken up a second time—by Yuuri’s high-pitched, hysterical screaming this time—has faded, but Yuuri would almost prefer that to this: Phichit’s taken to staring at Yuuri like Yuuri’s somehow grown two heads overnight. Yuuri would be inclined to believe <em>that </em>more than his current situation, but…</p>
<p>“I’m not joking,” he shakes his head apologetically.</p>
<p>“Oh, my god,” Phichit whispers, eyes wide with horror. “You’re being <em>serious. </em>Oh, my god. You <em>totally </em>forgot them.”</p>
<p>“Phichit—”</p>
<p>Phichit shudders. “Yuuri, light of my life, sun to my stars, dude to my bro—Ciao Ciao is going to <em>kill </em>you. <em>Holy shit. </em>Can I get your skates when you die, please? I want to be able to say that I have the skates of Japan’s Ace. Oh, wait! I need your hamster beanie, too, please. And all your ramen.”</p>
<p>Yuuri resists the urge to laugh, because it is really, <em>really </em>not funny. It hadn’t been funny twenty minutes earlier, when he’d realized he wasn’t dreaming and was indeed staring at his twenty-something best friend. And it’s <em>still </em>not funny now, with Phichit proving himself to be so similar yet <em>dissimilar </em>to the man he’d grown into. He wouldn’t change <em>too</em> much, not really, but the years <em>would </em>temper his boundless enthusiasm and lively exuberance some. In the future—and isn't <em>that </em>a thought—the Phichit <em>he </em>remembers was kind and warm and friendly, just like this one, but not nearly as dramatic.</p>
<p>He misses his best friend.</p>
<p>“Okay, I’m not going to <em>die,</em>” he protests.</p>
<p>“Oh, you are,” Phichit says, a little <em>too </em>unworried. Yuuri squints at him suspiciously, and Phichit just winks. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure Ciao Ciao doesn’t go crazy with your funeral.”</p>
<p><em>That’d be you, not Celestino, </em>Yuuri thinks, rolling his eyes. Out loud, he says, “Sorry, Phichit, you’re going to have to wait a little longer for my beanie.”</p>
<p>Phichit heaves an exaggeratedly long-suffering sigh. “Okay, what are you going to tell Ciao Ciao?” he demands, letting go of the theatrics for the moment. “How the <em>hell </em>are you going to explain <em>forgetting your programs for this season</em>!? It’s <em>December</em>! The GPF is <em>days </em>away!”</p>
<p>It’s clear Phichit’s waiting for an explanation, too, but… Yuuri doesn’t <em>have </em>one—one that he can <em>give, </em>at least. How is he supposed to put his current dilemma into words? <em>Oh, I’m sorry, Phichit, but I have the memory of a thirty-one year old Katsuki Yuuri, and he expunged his 2015 programs from his memory a long time ago. Trauma is a thing, okay?</em></p>
<p>Yeah, because that won’t make him sound <em>insane. </em>(He knows, deep down, that he can <em>never</em> tell Phichit—or anyone—his version of the truth.) Frankly, Yuuri isn’t even sure himself if he’s gone insane. This is all more than a little surreal.</p>
<p>But, subtly pinching himself out of Phichit’s sight, Yuuri is forced to come to terms with the fact that he’s <em>still </em>not dreaming. As surreal as it seems, this is all <em>real. </em>“I don’t know,” he admits. “Look, I…” He’s about to ask Phichit for videos of his 2015 programs so he can recommit them to memory when he’s struck by a thought: he doesn’t <em>want </em>to skate those programs again.</p>
<p>He may not remember the components of his 2015 programs, but what he <em>does </em>remember, all too vividly, is the feeling of falling, of <em>failing</em> not only himself, but everyone who believed in him. He remembers bringing shame to his country, his coach, his family. No matter how many competitions and seasons he’s won in the future, none of them have erased the memory of Sochi and his fall from grace.</p>
<p>He will <em>always</em> remember the disgrace of 2015.</p>
<p>And though the actual programs have since fled his memory, he <em>does </em>also still remember, in the <em>vaguest </em>sense, that his 2015 season had been based on the theme of <em>Longing</em>. In his first GPF, he’d longed for many things: the chance to prove himself, the chance to skate on the same ice as his longtime idol, the chance to medal. It’s particularly ironic, given he failed <em>spectacularly</em> at the Sochi GPF, but that’s neither here nor there.</p>
<p>The Katsuki Yuuri he is now, the one who’s succeeded at a level he couldn’t have dreamed of in 2015, no longer longs for any of that. He’s <em>fulfilled </em>those hopes, and he doesn’t think he can skate to his 2015 theme today. Not as he is now.</p>
<p><em>Longing </em>no longer describes him. It no longer defines him and his skating.</p>
<p>No, Yuuri concludes. He can’t skate those programs anymore. It wouldn’t feel genuine. And now of all times, stranded in a world where his friends and loved ones may as well be strangers, he <em>needs </em>that, desperately; he needs to be true to <em>himself </em>at least.</p>
<p>He makes up his mind. “Give me two hours,” he tells Phichit. “Run interference with Ciao Ciao for me, please. There’s something I need to do.”</p>
<p>Phichit sends him an exasperated look. “<em>Yuuri</em>—”</p>
<p>“<em>Two hours,</em>” he repeats himself, pleading. “I promise I’ll have something to skate then.”</p>
<p>Phichit closes his eyes, sighs heavily, and murmurs a prayer under his breath. “All right. Two hours,” he agrees, and relief floods Yuuri.</p>
<p>He’s always been able to count on his best friend. This may not be the Phichit he remembers, but it’s still <em>Phichit</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>After Phichit leaves, reassuring Yuuri that he’ll distract Ciao Ciao until Yuuri’s ready, Yuuri takes a moment to simply sit back and <em>process.</em></p>
<p>He’s in 2015. Most likely, nobody else remembers that it isn’t <em>supposed </em>to be 2015. <em>Phichit</em>, at least, doesn’t seem to remember.</p>
<p>Phichit thinks he’s <em>twenty-three. </em>He <em>is </em>twenty-three.</p>
<p>It’s December 1st, 2015, and he has to skate in the GPF in a little over a week’s time.</p>
<p>…It’s <em>2015. </em>So many of the people he cares about the most don’t even <em>know </em>him yet in 2015. His <em>husband</em> doesn’t know him. Neither do some of his closest friends—Yuri, Mila, Georgi. <em>His husband.</em></p>
<p>Oh, god. <em>Oh, god.</em></p>
<p>Viktor. Viktor isn’t just his husband. A single word cannot possibly encompass all that Viktor means to him. Viktor is… he’s <em>everything </em>to Yuuri. His former coach, his best friend, his partner. Everything. Yuuri remembers nights spent in each others’ arms, whispering about the future—whispering about <em>forever.</em> They dreamed of their life together, of retiring and growing old surrounded by half a dozen poodles and their family and friends.</p>
<p>Now that dream has faded into smoke, slipping out of his fingers, and Yuuri is left with <em>nothing. </em>No Viktor, no ring on his finger with the promise of <em>forever.</em></p>
<p><em>No, </em>Yuuri begs, <em>please, no. Don’t take him away from me. </em>He’d gone twenty three—twenty four—years without Viktor’s arms around him and his voice in his ear, his heart-shaped smile and his gentle kisses, his hushed murmurs of <em>my Yuuri </em>and <em>zolotse </em>and <em>lyubov moya</em>. Over twenty years without knowing the exact shade of Viktor’s eyes—a soft arctic blue, like the waters of the Hasetsu beach where he’d first fallen in love with Viktor—the shape of his birthmark, and the sound of his rich, rumbling laughter—the open, <em>genuine </em>laugh he keeps hidden from the media vultures who want to own a piece of him.</p>
<p>Over twenty years without Viktor’s love.</p>
<p>He doesn’t know if he can go back to those years, to living without the love of his life. To the emptiness of living <em>alone, </em>husband absent from his arms. He doesn’t know if he can <em>survive</em> that.</p>
<p><em>Please, </em>he prays, closing his eyes and imagining his husband in front of him, older but just as beautiful as he was the day Yuuri first met him. He imagines his husband’s smile as he reaches out to Yuuri, a twinkle in his eyes and his name on his lips. <em>Please bring me back to him. Please. This can’t be happening.</em></p>
<p>But he opens his eyes, and nothing changes.</p>
<p>Yuuri chokes back a sob, throwing his legs over the side of his bed and staggering out with sudden force. He can’t be here. He <em>can’t. </em>Stumbling on his feet, resembling a newborn more than a seasoned athlete, Yuuri somehow finds his way to the bathroom, half-collapsing through the door as he barges in. He practically flies to the sink, gripping the white bowl of the sink desperately as he leans forward and observes himself in the mirror. He rakes his eyes critically over every line, every crease, every shadow on his face.</p>
<p>(Wrong. He looks <em>wrong.</em>)</p>
<p>His own face is unfamiliar to him, and the realization makes him panic all over again. His face is smoother, tighter, <em>younger. </em>His skin is no longer loose at the eyes—at <em>everywhere</em>, his skin is far more firm than it should be. Even his eyes seem different—or maybe it’s just the ugly lighting in the bathroom. His hair is short still, styled the same way it had been all those years ago.</p>
<p>He takes in air in gasping, forceful gulps. Pathetically, he tries to rearrange his facial muscles into a smile. The expression that tugs at his face is one he doesn’t recognize. This is not the smile his husband loves—<em>loved?</em>—to coax out of him.</p>
<p>Yuuri doesn’t know this face, this man staring back at him.</p>
<p>He steps backwards in horror. He should look away. He <em>wants </em>to look away—can’t bear to stare at this… <em>stranger </em>and reconcile him with himself. He wants to <em>scream</em>, not only because he can’t stop thinking <em>who are you </em>at himself, but also because everything feels <em>real, </em>too real.</p>
<p>The cold of the sink—so solid—against the skin of his palms. The ground beneath his socked feet. The feeling of his sweatpants hugging his thighs. Even the fire in his lungs when he stops breathing for a second too long.</p>
<p>This… this feels real because it <em>is </em>real.</p>
<p>He takes another step back. And another. And another, and another, and another until he feels his body crash into the door. He nearly falls through, toppling over himself and losing sight of the mirror (of himself, of <em>not</em>-himself).</p>
<p>He locks the door out of some ingrained reflex, spins around, and throws up into the toilet bowl.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s not dead.</p>
<p>That much, he’s determined to be true. He’s still alive; when he presses his fingers to his pulse point, he can feel his heartbeat strong and steady. He can smell last night’s dinner mixing in with toilet water; he can taste the remnants of it in his mouth; he can hear his blood roaring in his ears.</p>
<p>So. He’s alive.</p>
<p>He can feel the beginnings of a panic attack rise in his belly—so familiar to him, reminiscent of every time he’s ever succumbed to his anxiety before a competition, letting the nasty little voice in his head drown out the support from his loved ones. <em>You’re not good enough, </em>the voice used to haunt him. <em>You’re a failure. You’re never going to make your parents proud.</em></p>
<p>Today, it sings a different, though equally haunting, tune: <em>You’re all alone. You don’t deserve Viktor’s love. You don’t deserve your fairy tale ending. Did you really think you’d get to retire and live the rest of your life, happily ever after? Happiness is not something that’s meant for you.</em></p>
<p>Yuuri shudders and blinks back tears, Viktor’s loving smile warping in his mind. His husband disappears from view, and a desperate cry rises in his throat. <em>Come back, </em>he calls out plaintively. <em>Come back to me, Viktor. Never leave me.</em></p>
<p>But Viktor’s already gone, too far away for him to reach. He doesn’t want to lose Viktor—</p>
<p>(<em>“Yuuri, starting today, I’m your coach. I’ll make you win the Grand Prix Final.”</em>)</p>
<p>(<em>“I wish you would never retire.”</em>)</p>
<p>(<em>“I’ll need you to become a five-time world champion, at least.”</em>)</p>
<p>(<em>“Stay close to me, Yuuri. Never leave my side.”</em>)</p>
<p>(<em>“Ya lyublyu tebya, solnyshko.”</em>)</p>
<p>—He’s already lost him.</p>
<p>(<em>“A commemorative photo? Sure!”</em>)</p>
<p>He throws up again.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>By the time he begins to calm down, he’s thrown up three more times and has lost all the food in his stomach. The next time he thinks of Viktor’s first words to him all those years ago (or this year?)—mistaking him for a mere fan even after skating on the same ice together—and leans over the toilet, heaving, all that leaves him is air and misery.</p>
<p>He flushes the toilet. And then flushes again, willing the toilet to <em>go faster </em>so he doesn’t have to keep seeing the physical evidence of his horror. He tears off tissue from the roll and wipes harshly at his mouth.</p>
<p>After he trashes the wad of tissue, he collapses against the bathroom door and stares blankly in front of him. He can’t see anything but Viktor’s face. In his mind’s eye, the fondness—the <em>love—</em>that used to be there has died, replaced by a blank void. No recognition, no familiarity, no friendliness.</p>
<p>A full-body shudder runs through him. The Viktor he knows, the Viktor he married, is gone. Their love exists only in Yuuri’s memory now.</p>
<p><em>I will love you forever, </em>he thinks. <em>I will love you for the both of us.</em></p>
<p>He thinks of the Viktor of 2015 then, bored and uninspired by his life and his constant success. He thinks of this Viktor, broken and hopeless, with nothing but the ice to turn to for comfort—in 2015, Viktor had been alone, so consumed by his career that he hadn’t allowed himself to open himself up to anyone.</p>
<p>He thinks of Viktor, trapped in an endless cycle, his life stagnating into darkness. He thinks of Viktor, lost and unmoored, passion and inspiration both fleeing him as he sits upon his golden throne, unchallenged as he overlooks the whole world. Viktor, strong but <em>isolated.</em></p>
<p>At the thought of him, Yuuri can’t help but feel love—<em>so much love</em>—for Viktor—his Viktor, this Viktor, and every other version of his husband, past, present and future—spill over from within. In his wedding vows, Yuuri had promised to stand by Viktor’s side always, to hold his hand and to guide him into the light, to love him for better or worse.</p>
<p>Yuuri has every intention of fulfilling his vows. If he can spare Viktor even a <em>second </em>of pain, of loneliness…</p>
<p>
  <em>Wait for me, Vitya. Everything will change soon. Now that I’m here, I won’t let you suffer alone any longer. I promise.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry this chapter was a little short. Hope you guys enjoyed anyway &lt;3</p>
<p>Next chapter will have Yuri’s reaction :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Yuri</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>At the same time as a 31-year-old Katsuki Yuuri wakes up in his 23-year-old body, Yuri Plisetsky opens his eyes in an unfamiliar—yet familiar—world and realizes he is no longer in 2023. Instead, he seems to be days away from his last season in the Junior Division.</p>
<p>Goddamn time travel.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Yuri Plisetsky doesn’t even realize he is on the ice until he slams straight into the edge of the rink.</p>
<p>All around him, his rink-mates stare and gape, murmuring confusedly amongst themselves.</p>
<p>Viktor Nikiforov may be the Living Legend of Russia, but Yuri has a reputation of his own. Though he is still young, anyone can see that Yuri is a true natural talent—a prodigy, even. He’s proved himself time and time again, after all, improving constantly as an ever-evolving monster since the first time Yakov laid eyes on him.</p>
<p>By now, he rarely <em>ever</em> falls while on the ice. Especially not when he isn’t even attempting a jump.</p>
<p>If that isn’t sign enough that something is <em>off, </em>then the fact that Yuri doesn’t immediately get up and dive right back into his program is definitely telling.</p>
<p>“Yuri?” Mila Babicheva calls out, concerned by Yuri’s stillness. “What just happened...?”</p>
<p>Yuri, for his part, doesn’t answer her or otherwise react, unable to muster the strength to lift himself up. He feels dazed and exhausted in a way fifteen-year-old Yuri would <em>never</em> have let himself be seen as.</p>
<p>
  <em>What...?</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Where...? Where am I—?</em>
</p>
<p>Wasn’t he just at the hospital—</p>
<p><em>Dedushka</em><em>!</em> Yuri’s eyes widen, grief lancing through his heart like the serrated edge of a poison-laced knife. Tears spring to his eyes for what feels like the hundredth time since he heard that telltale <em>beeeep </em>of a flatline and doctors and nurses alike came rushing in, urgently ushering him out of the room.</p>
<p>“Yura, what the fuck was <em>that</em>!?” Yakov thunders, not nearly as sympathetic or as worried as Mila. His question is less of an inquiry and more of a <em>demand</em>, a fierce roar that makes Yuri furrow his brows, tears drying quickly in the frosty air of the rink—isn’t Yakov supposed to be <em>sick</em>...? At the very least, Yuri <em>knows</em> Yakov isn’t supposed to be anywhere near St. Petersburg, having retired over a year ago. “And <em>stand up</em>! I <em>swear,</em> if you’re falling asleep on the ice—!”</p>
<p>“Chill <em>out</em>, Yakov,” Yuri finally finds his voice, pushing himself to his feet with a groan. Almost immediately, he frowns at how unbalanced his center of gravity feels. Is the ice somehow <em>closer </em>to him today than it usually is?</p>
<p>“You can’t boss me around anymore,” Yuri adds, only barely managing to keep his voice civil instead of contemptuous. <em>Don’t you dare scream at me after I just lost my grandfather, </em>are the words that linger in the air between them, unspoken but <em>felt</em>, like a bruising attack that wants to leave Yuri suffocating alone.</p>
<p>But Yuri has never been one to grasp at excuses to defend his own shortcomings, even though his grandfather’s (inevitable but still <em>traumatic</em>) passing is not so much an <em>excuse </em>as it is the <em>end of Yuri’s world—</em></p>
<p>“Excuse me?” Yakov hisses. “Like <em>hell </em>I can’t! I am <em>your coach </em>and—“</p>
<p>“My coach?” Yuri repeats dumbly, the initial wave of fresh sorrow dying as a million bewildered questions replace it. After a beat of silence, the perplexity passes and he snorts. “Well, don’t let Katsudon hear that; you <em>know</em> how he gets when people try to undermine him.” Yuri doesn’t say it aloud, but inwardly the word <em>terrifying </em>flashes across his mind as an apt descriptor.</p>
<p>Yuri would be loath to admit to being <em>scared</em> of someone who shares the same name as him, but it‘s <em>true</em>: as shy and timid as Yuuri is in any other case, the Japanese former figure skater isn’t afraid to bare his fangs when it comes to defending his new job as a coach. The first time a competing Russian skater questioned Yuuri’s qualifications as the coach of Russia’s Pride, looking down on Yuuri only because he could not <em>comprehend</em> the mere <em>idea</em> of a Japanese teaching a fellow Russian even if that same Japanese had won international gold <em>multiple</em> times by then, Yuri himself had flown into a rage on his new coach’s behalf (<em>I’m the only one who’s allowed to talk down to the Katsudon, </em>he thought at the time), fists already starting to itch at his sides when—much to everyone’s surprise—Yuuri quickly and calmly stepped forward, cutting in with a sharp, shark-like grin and serpentine words that left the skater practically shaking in his boots (or skates, in his case) and begging for forgiveness.</p>
<p>Later, Yuri got his own revenge by proving with his new short program exactly how <em>qualified </em>Yuuri was to both coach and choreograph for him when he easily snatched back Viktor’s newest world record. Granted, he didn’t quite manage to beat the free skate world record, but given that it was his <em>coach’s</em> record, the other Russian skater didn’t bother to point it out, having been effectively silenced.</p>
<p>He never dared to accuse Yuuri of inadequacy again, especially when Yuri emerged as the gold medalist with an impressive lead of upwards of 30 points over the silver medalist. (Everyone else already knew from the very beginning that there is no better coach for Yuri than his Japanese namesake; Yuuri’s accomplishments are ridiculously extensive, so much so that <em>Yuri</em> was the one who approached Yuuri to request his services as a coach after Yuuri’s eventual retirement.)</p>
<p>“<em>Katsudon</em>?” Yakov echoes skeptically, his voice wrapping around the nickname as if it’s the first time he’s ever heard it, even though it is more accurately around the millionth time. As if he didn’t once proclaim Yuuri to be his favorite student (<em>and the most polite, too, how the hell does he handle you and Yura both, Vitya?</em>) even though in reality, he never <em>officially</em> coached Yuuri. “What the <em>hell</em> are you talking about?”</p>
<p>“What do you <em>mean, </em>what am I talking about?” Yuri grumbles, rolling his eyes. At last adjusting to the eery strangeness of his new form, Yuri turns around to properly express his annoyance to Yakov—only to <em>freeze</em> for a reason that has nothing to do with the temperature of the rink, his jaw dropping as he chokes out his shock.</p>
<p>“Y-<em>Yakov</em>!?” Yuri screeches before he can shut his mouth in time. “Your <em>hair</em>!”</p>
<p>Yakov’s eyes seem to bulge out of their sockets as his face—miraculously less wrinkled and weary than the last time Yuri saw him—reddens angrily. “<em>Yura</em>!” he bellows, veins becoming distinct against the complexion of his skin. Around them, Yuri’s rink-mates, most notably Viktor, Mila, and Georgi, all gawk at Yuri in awe even as they snicker behind Yakov’s back. “You—! The only reason I’m losing hair and <em>years </em>of my life is because of students like you and Vitya!”</p>
<p>Yuri glares aggressively, the words <em>your attitude is as ugly as ever even if you look younger</em> already burning on the tip of his tongue when Yakov’s words fully sink into his mind and he all but <em>blanches</em> in confusion.</p>
<p>Beyond the initial raw confusion however, <em>dread</em> engulfs him in a shroud.</p>
<p>“<em>Losing </em>hair?” he mutters to himself, wondering if perhaps old age (and his most recent two-weeks-long exposure to Viktor, because <em>god</em> knows Viktor is madness embodied) has finally driven Yakov senile.</p>
<p>He shakes away the doubt and narrows his eyes at Yakov. “Why are you even <em>here</em>?” he grouses. “Where’s that stupid piggy coach of mine?”</p>
<p>Mila bursts out laughing and then promptly claps her hands over her mouth before Yakov can turn his wrath on her. Viktor sputters in shock and dissolves into coughing.</p>
<p>Yuri is pretty sure he hears someone (<em>Georgi</em>?) faint and slump to the floor.</p>
<p>In front of him, Yuri watches with slight trepidation as Yakov’s already red face purples even more. “<em>Yura</em>...” he hisses, dangerous and threatening.</p>
<p>“Uh,” a familiar voice interjects through a bout of nervous laughter. Yuri’s blood chills in his veins, a sense of foreboding creeping into him. “Yuri’s just messing around. Right, Yuri?”</p>
<p>Yakov redirects his venomous glare at someone just out of Yuri’s line of sight.</p>
<p>Yuri, for his part, feels the ice disappear beneath his feet.</p>
<p>
  <em>That’s... but, no. There’s no way. He sounds so – off.</em>
</p>
<p>Fear and a nascent panic clang through his body as Yuri slowly twists around to come face-to-face with the source of the voice.</p>
<p>
  <em>Viktor.</em>
</p>
<p>Yuri pales immediately.</p>
<p>Because Viktor looks <em>young, </em>the lines of his face still firm and taut instead of naturally creased, having not yet given in to the influence of time. His hair, too, reflects a youth that the years have stripped away from him, fresh and silver-toned instead of muted and greying. In many ways, Viktor’s transformation is even more dramatic than Yakov’s.</p>
<p>“Vik...tor?” Yuri mumbles in disbelief. <em>How? What’s happening?</em></p>
<p>His hand, shaking with uncertainty, drifts up to his face, pushing his fringe away from his forehead and rubbing his eyes so he can see more clearly. But the sight before him remains unchanged, and Yuri’s heart sinks to his knees—</p>
<p>
  <em>Wait.</em>
</p>
<p>Yuri stiffens.</p>
<p><em>What the hell is wrong with my own hair? </em>It feels far too short. <em>No. No fucking way. </em>After his last World Championships with Viktor and Yuuri before the latter two retired, Yuri spent months moping about his lack of decent competition and ended up growing out his hair until the blond locks cascaded neatly down to his waist in an act of rebellion—<em>aw, Yurio, you look just like I used to, </em>Viktor cooed many times, always dragging an unwilling Yuri into a back-breaking hug before he could protest while Yuuri traitorously laughed his head off.</p>
<p>Nowadays, Yuri always keeps his hair in a tight ponytail unless he needs to style it in a specific way for one of his competitions.</p>
<p>But as it is right now, Yuri can barely feel the ends of his hair meet his <em>shoulders</em>, much less reach his torso.</p>
<p>“Alright,” Yuri growls, ignoring the sudden awareness that his voice is <em>high so high oh god too high, </em>“whose idea of a prank is this?” And it <em>has</em> to be a prank, because the only other explanation he can think of is—</p>
<p>
  <em>Too weird. Too unbelievable. Too unrealistic.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Too impossible.</em>
</p>
<p>(Too close to what he <em>wants</em>, so badly it <em>hurts</em> just to imagine it.)</p>
<p>“Because if you think this is <em>funny</em>, then think again, because I’m <em>not</em> laughing,” Yuri adds, his voice fluctuating the way it sometimes does when he lets his panic overrule his rational thinking. “And last I remember, April Fools’ Day isn’t for a few weeks still.”</p>
<p>Unless he somehow missed an entire month, because he is <em>pretty sure</em> that the last thing he remembers is <em>his grandfather </em>and that <em>beep </em>and Yuuri <em>barging</em> in, ignoring his husband’s return to St. Petersburg and his students’ looming World Championships.</p>
<p><em>Did I go off the deep end after </em><em>Dedushka</em><em> died or something? </em>he asks himself. <em>Maybe I’ve been drunk off my ass for the last couple of weeks.</em></p>
<p>But none of that explains <em>why</em> and <em>how</em> he is in a rink with <em>Yakov </em>blowing up at him.</p>
<p>“A few <em>weeks</em>?” Mila, the wretched witch, squeaks, stunned.</p>
<p>Viktor stares at him like Yuri somehow grew two heads overnight. (Yuri <em>resents</em> that unspoken implication because if <em>anyone</em> here is screwed in the head, it’s <em>Viktor Nikiforov</em>.) “What are you <em>saying</em>, Yuri? April is still <em>months </em>away!”</p>
<p>
  <em>Months!?</em>
</p>
<p>Yuri is relatively certain that, were it not for over a decade of experience on the ice, Viktor’s revelation would have made him stumble and trip over gracelessly.</p>
<p>Because even if Yuri is willing to briefly consider the idea that his grandfather’s death drove him to alcohol, he <em>knows</em> Yuuri was still in the midsts of preparing his students for Worlds before he fell asleep and somehow woke up <em>here</em>, and he <em>also</em> knows there’s <em>no way </em>he could have missed so much that April is now “months away.”</p>
<p>For one, Katsudon would have never let him lose sight of himself for <em>too </em>long. For some reason, Katsudon has a tendency to look after Yuri even when Yuri <em>explicitly</em> tells him to <em>back the fuck off</em>. By now, Yuri is resigned to the fact that nothing and no one can make Katsudon falter after he’s set his mind to something.</p>
<p>For two, Yuri had been looking forward to Worlds as well <em>goddamnit</em> (even if he <em>was</em> admittedly displeased to be competing without the Katsuki-Nikiforovs), and both Katsudon and the old man would never let him live it down if he missed the competition. Hell, <em>he</em> would never forgive himself if he missed it.</p>
<p>Which is why Yuri is relatively confident in his certainty that Viktor has gone completely bonkers. <em>I guess two weeks away without his husband, “the light of his life” and “his sun and stars,” was too much, </em>he muses.<em> I’m not surprised. The way Viktor acts around Katsudon, it wouldn’t be farfetched to believe that even a day spent apart would drive him mad.</em></p>
<p>“Oh, god,” Mila bemoans, and for some reason, her horrified stare is directed at <em>Yuri</em>, not Viktor, “I think he hit his head a little too hard. I always <em>knew</em> something like this would happen! We need to take him to the infirmary—“</p>
<p>Okay, so maybe they’re <em>all</em> out of their minds. <em>Maybe proximity to Viktor breeds insanity? Shit, does that mean he’s going to infect me, too?</em></p>
<p>“Oi, shut up, baba,” Yuri sneers, recoiling away from her, afraid she’ll lift him off the ice as she so loves to do and carry him to the infirmary kicking and screaming. “Don’t even <em>think</em> about it. I’m <em>fine</em>. You guys are the crazy ones!”</p>
<p>Mila squints at him skeptically. Georgi, newly revived, hears the tail-end of his words and snorts. Viktor just looks lost.</p>
<p>Yakov’s eye twitches.</p>
<p>Yuri ignores their reactions steadfastly, pointing at Viktor defiantly. “I <em>knew </em>you were getting <em>old, </em>but who would have guessed you were already starting to lose your memory?”</p>
<p>Viktor’s jaw drops. “Yuri!” he whines, positively aghast. “I’m not <em>old</em>! How could you <em>say</em> that to me? I’ll have you know I am the <em>epitome</em> of young and charming, I—”</p>
<p>Yuri scoffs. “Oh, please, <em>old man, </em>who do you think you’re fooling—?”</p>
<p>Wait.</p>
<p>
  <em>Wait a second. Wait just one goddamn second.</em>
</p>
<p>“Hold on,” Yuri narrows his eyes suspiciously as he catches a glaring clue he failed to recognize the first few times it peeked out of its hiding place. Another piece of the puzzle clicks into place in his mind. Taking a deep breath, he asks, almost afraid of the answer, “What did you just call me?”</p>
<p>Viktor’s eyebrows skip up his forehead. “Yuri,” he repeats, enunciating slowly and clearly like he’s talking to a two-year-old instead of a <em>man, </em>goddamnit. “You know, your <em>name</em>?”</p>
<p>“You haven’t called me Yuri since Katsudon barged into your life and made my own life <em>miserable,</em>” Yuri points out, lips curling in distaste as he reluctantly brings up Yuuri even if a part of him—a tiny<em>, minuscule </em>part of him—warms with fondness and gratitude.</p>
<p><em>Ugh, </em>he wrinkles his nose at his own thoughts. <em>That pig is making me go soft. Disgusting.</em></p>
<p>“Katsudon?” Viktor’s brows knit with the same confusion that struck Yakov mere minutes ago. He tilts his head. “Who’s that? What a weird name.”</p>
<p>Yuri stares at him.</p>
<p>And stares.</p>
<p>
  <em>What the.</em>
</p>
<p>The Viktor <em>he</em> knows would have promptly whacked Yuri upside the head for even <em>attempting</em> to suggest that his “precious Yuuri” is anything but <em>the most positive influence on </em>both<em> our lives, Yurio!</em></p>
<p>This is clearly <em>not</em> that Viktor.</p>
<p><em>There’s no possible way this is a prank, </em>Yuri realizes, horror churning in his gut. <em>Because Viktor would never pretend he doesn’t know Katsudon, his “perfect” husband he loves more than anything, for any reason at all—especially not for some silly joke.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>Which means...</em>
</p>
<p>“What’s the date?” Yuri dares to ask, his crossed arms and curled fists doing nothing to hide the shudder that runs through him. Pride keeps him standing straight even though the <em>terror </em>of the potential truth of his situation tries to drive him to the ground.</p>
<p>“Yuri,” Mila starts tentatively, as though she’s afraid that if she speaks too suddenly or abruptly, Yuri will break down right before her eyes, “it’s the first.”</p>
<p>“The first...?”</p>
<p>“Of <em>December,</em>“ Viktor clarifies.</p>
<p>Yuri <em>swears</em> his heart stops. (Viktor is <em>always</em> making him feel like he has heart failure.)</p>
<p>“D-December!?” Yuri shrieks. “What do you mean it’s <em>December</em>?”</p>
<p>“Are you feeling dizzy?” Viktor frowns. “Do you have a concussion, Yuri? Maybe you should rest up a bit. Don’t forget, I‘m not going to choreograph <em>anything</em> for your senior debut unless you win <em>gold</em>, and there’s no way you’ll be able to do that if you faint halfway through your programs.”</p>
<p>“Gold...?” <em>Senior Debut!?</em></p>
<p>“At the Junior Grand Prix Finals,” Georgi elaborates. “Yuri, it’s less than a <em>week</em> away!”</p>
<p>Junior Grand Prix.</p>
<p>Junior.</p>
<p><em>…Junior</em>!</p>
<p>Why the <em>hell</em> are they all claiming that he’s still in the <em>junior </em>league? He‘s <em>twenty-three</em>, for god’s sake!</p>
<p><em>Right? </em>The faintest flicker of doubt stirs in his chest and Yuri suddenly feels <em>sick</em>.</p>
<p><em>Oh, no. Don’t tell me... </em>Yuri takes in a deep, unsteady breath, his unfamiliar center of gravity returning to the forefront of his mind with the force of a brick to the face. His heart hammering rapidly in his chest and his fingers discreetly crossing behind his back, Yuri tentatively peeks down at the rest of him, and—</p>
<p>
  <em>HOLY SHIT! NO! THIS ISN’T HAPPENING!</em>
</p>
<p>Because even without looking at himself through a mirror, Yuri can spot the differences. His body is <em>tiny. </em>No <em>wonder </em>he feels so much shorter. It’s because he <em>is</em> so much shorter.</p>
<p>And if he was surprised to see the others’ transformations, then that surprise has <em>nothing</em> on the complete and utter <em>shock</em> that floods him at his own apparent transformation.</p>
<p>Viktor, Mila, Georgi, and even Yakov are all staring at him, and Yuri... Yuri can’t help it: he <em>screams, </em>falling flat on his back like a baby bird trying to take to the air for the first time.</p>
<p>He isn’t surprised in the least when Viktor and Mila, the traitorous bastards, burst out laughing.</p>
<p>Georgi valiantly tries to hold back his own laughter—which is the <em>only</em> reason why he won’t get a skate to the face as soon as Yuri <em>gets the hang of his stupid new-old body</em>—but quickly loses the uphill battle when he sees Yuri try and fail to get back on his feet.</p>
<p>Yuri finally manages to scramble to his feet after a few too many attempts and promptly shoots a withering glare at all three of his apparently-current rink-mates. His glare gets unfortunately ignored by Georgi who is too busy trying to hide his (obvious) laughter to see it, Mila who just isn’t affected, and Viktor who is too <em>stupid </em>to realize it’s directed at him.</p>
<p>“I hate to agree with Vitya, but perhaps he has the right idea,” Yakov breaks the silence before Yuri can accidentally-on-purpose commit homicide. Yakov’s face twists like he just tasted something sour at the admission; on the other hand, Mila and Georgi both stare wide-eyed at him, while Viktor beams brightly at the realization that Yakov is backing him up. “Go <em>home</em>, Yura.”</p>
<p>But Yuri doesn’t react, not even to throw a tantrum and pick a fight with Yakov for trying to send him home like the others expect him to do. Instead, the ire has faded, and all that is left is <em>what </em>and <em>how </em>and most importantly <em>why.</em></p>
<p>Truthfully, Yuri can barely even hear Yakov over the roar of his own thoughts.</p>
<p>
  <em>It’s December. I haven’t won gold at the Junior Grand Prix Finals yet. Viktor mentioned choreographing for my senior debut. Nobody knows Katsudon yet.</em>
</p>
<p>A sinking feeling is beginning to settle in the pit of his stomach, making itself felt when a sudden bout of nausea hits him and Yuri <em>whimpers</em>.</p>
<p>
  <em>Holy shit, it’s 2015.</em>
</p>
<p>“And I had <em>better </em>not see you step foot in this rink again until you’ve sorted yourself out!” Yakov adds firmly, pushing Yuri in the direction of the exit.</p>
<p>Any normal day, Yuri wouldn’t hesitate to protest and let Yakov know he’s <em>out of his damn mind </em>if he thinks he can make Yuri leave the rink before it closes. But this is not any normal day, and Yuri follows Yakov’s instructions and leaves the rink in a numb haze.</p>
<p>All the while, the resounding thought in his mind refuses to fade: <em>How is this possible?</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>More on Yuri's reaction to being stuck in the past next chapter!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Plisetskys</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Back in 2015, Yuri gets some much-needed reassurance. </p><p>He starts to make plans for the upcoming GPF.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Yuri is halfway to his apartment when it strikes him: if this really <em>is </em>2015, if he’s somehow found himself eight years into the past, then his wish has come true. His grandfather must still be alive.</p><p>
  <em>Dedushka.</em>
</p><p>It’s a dream that has taken his mind hostage ever since the fateful flatline, but he hasn’t truly let himself entertain the thought. After all, despite his nickname as the Russian Fairy of the ice skating world, he has never let himself fall victim to grandiose ideas of magic, fairy tales and – and <em>time travel.</em></p><p>He’s grounded in reality; <em>has been </em>so since he was old enough to realize his parents had abandoned him at his grandfather’s doorstep upon his birth. Since then, he’s done his utmost to stay true to himself, never deluding himself into chasing fantasy. Instead, he’d chased reality; he’d chosen to follow his grandfather’s footsteps and promptly thrown himself into ice-skating from the moment his grandfather took him to his very first ice rink.</p><p>Maybe others wouldn’t see his dreams of international success as a figure skater as ‘realistic’, but Yuri had never let the doubters deter him. He’s always been someone who<em> knows</em>, without a shadow of doubt, what he wants to do. What he wants to <em>be.</em></p><p>But now Yuri finds himself forced to revisit his ideas of fantasy and reality. The lines have blurred beyond recognition, and Yuri is—despite himself—<em>hopeful.</em></p><p>If he’s <em>right, </em>if his grandfather <em>is still alive...</em></p><p>Yuri can think of nothing he wants more.</p><p>Hope and caution warring in his mind, heart thrumming loudly in his ribcage, blood roaring in his ears, Yuri closes the remaining distance between himself and his apartment as fast as he can. <em>Please, please, please, </em>Yuri prays without restraint. <em>Please. Let this be a second chance.</em></p><p>As soon as he arrives at his old apartment, he holds his breath and inserts his key, bracing himself for the inevitable disappointment when his key no longer fits. He moved out of his first apartment a few months after Katsudon first came to live with Viktor; ostensibly so he can “keep an eye on the old man and make sure he doesn’t do anything untoward to the innocent skater”, but in reality for the peace of mind that comes with living within walking distance of his closest friends (not that Yuri would <em>ever </em>call them friends to their faces).</p><p>His key slots into the keyhole—a perfect fit.</p><p>Yuri expels a shaky, relieved breath. <em>It fits. It... it fits. Fuck. </em>With trembling hands, he unlocks the door and swings it open cautiously, demeanor skittish as his eyes dart to and fro.</p><p>If he’s wrong, then some random tenant is about to receive the fright of their life.</p><p>(Please don’t let him be wrong.)</p><p>When no one emerges from the depths of the apartment to yell at him for trespassing, Yuri tentatively crosses the threshold, wide—<em>scared</em>—eyes drinking in his surroundings.</p><p>Almost immediately, he stops short.</p><p>He’s face-to-face with an apartment that no longer feels like <em>home</em>, but that is still intimately <em>familiar</em> in a way he cannot deny. In front of him lies a short hallway, leading further into a teenage Yuri’s life; even from out here, Yuri can spot remnants of his old self, traces of cold aloofness and self-isolation coloring the atmosphere of the apartment. His walls are bare, a callback to his formerly antisocial self (well, to be fair, he’s still mostly antisocial, with only a few exceptions).</p><p>There are no paintings, no mementos and knickknacks gracing his walls and shelves. Instead, there is a distinctly spartan feel to the halls; it’s all entirely <em>utilitarian</em>.</p><p>Absurdly, he finds himself missing it all—the “family portrait” of himself, Katsudon and the Old Man staring down at him with candid smiles of bliss; the statuette of a puma Otabek had gifted him; the photograph of his darling cat Sasha and the stupid old geezer’s drooling Makkachin curled around one another, Yuri gawping in dismay in the background; an image of the two Yuris standing shoulder-to-shoulder, twin medals of silver and gold decorating their necks as Viktor captured their beaming smiles for posterity; a startlingly lifelike tiger oil painting he’d found hanging on his wall one day with a Post-It message from Yuuri; a framed photograph from one of Viktor’s photoshoots that he’d taken down time and time again only for Viktor to keep sneaking into his apartment to hang it back up; and on and on.</p><p>(He misses the company, too.)</p><p>A second later, he shakes away the nostalgia forcefully.</p><p>As much as those mementos’ absence leaves him empty and <em>longing, </em>they also mean something else. Swallowing hard, Yuri ventures further into the apartment he’d once called home, all the while fumbling through his duffel bag—which Mila had unceremoniously thrusted into his arms earlier—for his phone.</p><p><em>This is definitely my old place, </em>Yuri thinks desperately to himself as he makes his way to the living room, eyes catching on the <em>one </em>photograph he’d allowed himself before the whirlwind that is Katsuki Yuuri turned his life upside down (yet somehow the right way up)—it’s a photo of himself at six years old, head thrown back in laughter as he wraps his arms and legs around his grandfather, in a sloppy imitation of a piggyback ride.</p><p>Yuri blinks back tears. <em>Dedushka. Please... please be here. </em>Legs unsteady beneath his weight, Yuri allows himself one last glance at the photograph and collapses on the sofa. His gaze finally drifts to his phone, trepidation clear in his glittering viridian eyes.</p><p>
  <em>Please.</em>
</p><p>Taking a deep breath, Yuri navigates to his phone contacts, scrolls down until he finds his grandfather’s, and hesitates for a split-second.</p><p>What if he’s <em>wrong</em>? What if his grandfather is still dead?</p><p>Can he handle that a second time? Can he face that reality again?</p><p>...What if he’s <em>right</em>? What if his grandfather is back with him?</p><p>Yuri exhales. He presses <em>call.</em></p><p>Holding the phone to his ear, he waits tremulously as the phone rings once, twice, thrice—</p><p>A click.</p><p>“<em>Yurochka?</em>”</p><p>Yuri tumbles off the sofa and sinks to the floor, fingers wrapped so tightly around his phone he fears it might break. Unbidden tears immediately spring to his eyes as a choked—strangled—<em>sob</em> wrenches its way out of his chest. “<em>Dedushka,</em>” he whispers, and the world finally rights itself in his mind.</p><p>Thank god.</p><p>
  <em>Thank god.</em>
</p><p>“<em>Yurochka?</em>” his grandfather’s voice comes through the line again. “<em>Is everything okay?</em>”</p><p>Warmth blossoms in Yuri’s chest. “Yes,” he breathes, and for the first time since his grandfather’s diagnosis all those months ago, it’s the truth. His grandfather’s voice is rough and stern and familiar in his ear, and it sounds like coming home. “I’m okay.”</p><p>And Yuri really <em>is</em>.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It’s hours before Yuri feels relaxed enough to hang up. Even then, he makes sure to extract a promise from his grandfather to call him the next day before he lets his grandfather go; he bets it’ll take a few more weeks and months of constant checking in before he’ll be truly reassured of his second chance.</p><p>(Privately, he makes urgent plans to arrange an extensive checkup for his grandfather in the very, <em>very </em>near future, so that the doctors will be able to catch the cancer early on—before it spreads too far. It'll work—it <em>has </em>to work. He’ll do anything to save his grandfather.)</p><p>As soon as he ends the call, Yuri sinks deeper into the sofa and sighs. For a strange moment, all he can think of is: <em>I have to tell Yuuri. </em>He’s surprised—and yet <em>not</em> surprised, strangely enough—to find that he <em>wants </em>to tell Yuuri that his grandfather is okay, because he knows that Yuuri will immediately discern how he feels and react accordingly.</p><p>Yuuri will be <em>thrilled </em>for him.</p><p>But at the same time, Yuuri will intuitively know—and <em>understand</em>—that Yuri still needs more <em>time </em>before he can trust in his grandfather’s health. Before he can let the budding hope in his heart flourish and thrive. Before he can let himself relax and be <em>happy. </em>If Yuri lets his imagination wander, he can just <em>picture</em> Yuuri wrapping him up in a warm, comforting hug and holding on tight, even when Yuri (inevitably) tries to push him away.</p><p>More than anything, Yuri wishes he could <em>talk </em>to someone else—namely, Yuuri—about this. He gets as far as typing in Yuuri’s phone number—which he’s memorized only because Viktor told him he <em>needed </em>to know one of their contacts ‘in case of an emergency’, and Yuri would rather cut off his own hand than go to Viktor should such an occasion arise—before he abruptly realizes that the reason he no longer has Yuuri’s contact saved and thus needs to manually input the number is because <em>Yuuri doesn’t know him yet.</em></p><p>Yuuri won’t recognize him if he calls.</p><p>All at once, an overwhelming wave of misery crushes him. He’s been alone often in his life, but it's been a long time since he’s felt genuinely <em>lonely. </em>Ever since Yuuri came into his life, he hasn’t <em>needed </em>to feel lonely—Yuuri would never let him.</p><p>Yuuri’s always there, begging Yuri to let him in, even when Yuri absolutely refuses to. Usually, Yuri would react to Yuuri’s unwavering presence at his side with a facade of disgust and annoyance, but now, he finds himself <em>yearning</em> for it.</p><p><em>Where are you, Yuuri? </em>he thinks, and when he imagines reliving the next eight years without anybody who really <em>knows </em>him, he has to swallow hard. <em>I wish you were here.</em></p><p>Can he even <em>do </em>it? he wonders. Navigate the next few years alone, without Yuuri and even Viktor’s now-familiar support? Go through the Onsen on Ice face-off and his senior debut all over again, with Yuuri staring at him as though he’s a stranger? Handle meeting Katsuki Yuuri for the first time again, Yuuri seeing him only as an abrasive kid whose arrogance knew no bounds?</p><p><em>No, it’s not a question of whether I </em>can <em>do it, </em>he thinks, realization a heavy weight in his stomach. <em>I </em>have<em> to do it. I have to get them back. Katsudon </em>and <em>the old man.</em></p><p>(He doesn’t know what he’ll do if he doesn’t.)</p><p><em>I’ll just have to meet them on the ice again,</em> he thinks, swallowing down the last of his uncertainty. He’ll do it all over again, if he has to. If it means getting his <em>family </em>back. <em>I’ll show them who I am again.</em></p><p>And he would. He’d express himself on the ice, the same way he had been doing for the last eight years. He’d skate his way through the Junior Grand Prix Finals, and then through his senior debut, through his first win against Katsudon in Barcelona, through his silver medal at Worlds, through Nationals and Europeans and the Olympics. He’d show Yuuri and Viktor both what the ice meant to them all, show them—</p><p><em>Wait. </em>He pauses. <em>I’m in juniors. I’ll be skating on the same ice as them for the first time again next season. </em>He’ll be skating against <em>Yuuri </em>again.</p><p>Because in this world, at this moment, Yuuri hasn’t retired yet. Yuri hasn’t <em>lost </em>his rival to retirement.</p><p>A slow, delighted grin crawls across his face. <em>I can’t wait, </em>he thinks, when he imagines the opportunity to compete against Yuuri again. Yuuri had been a brilliant coach, sure, but he had and <em>would </em>always shine best as a competitor, a skater pouring his heart into his art.</p><p><em>I can’t wait, </em>the thought repeats in his mind. In all his seasons after Yuuri left the ice, Yuri hadn’t come across <em>anyone </em>who could even come <em>close </em>to Yuuri’s talent. <em>No one </em>skated like Yuuri did.</p><p>(When Minami Kenjirou qualified for the GPF a year after Yuuri retired, becoming the first Japanese <em>after </em>Yuuri, Yuri had skated <em>his</em> heart out, refusing to give Minami an <em>inch. </em>When Yuuri had asked about it later, Yuri had reluctantly admitted that he didn’t want anyone to replace Yuuri as Japan’s Ace.</p><p>He didn’t want anyone to forget Yuuri’s skating, period.)</p><p>Yuuri was—is—<em>unparalleled </em>on the ice, Yuri knows. Despite his anxiety, despite his 2015 self's difficulty in landing even the quad salchow—a strange thing to think about, when Yuri remembers him as Yuuri “Quadsuki” Katsuki—despite <em>everything, </em>Yuri knows it’s still true. Yuuri skates with an undeniable, innate beauty and <em>musicality</em> that no one else can even <em>touch</em>. And…</p><p><em>You had better wait for me, Katsudon, because I’m coming for you. </em>He’d work on his step sequences, retrain himself in ballet, build on his programs again and again and <em>again. </em>He'd train himself into the <em>ground</em> if need be.<em> I’m the only one who can rival you.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Preparations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>2023-Yuuri, 2023-Yuri, and 2015-Viktor are all in the final stretch of preparations for the 2015 GPF in Sochi, Russia.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the days leading up to the Sochi GPF, Yuuri reworks his entire program.</p>
<p>He revisits <em>On Love: Eros</em>, makes tweaks until the short program is even <em>better</em> than it had ever been in his first life.</p>
<p>He makes inquiries into various songs for his free program, as <em>Yuuri on Ice</em> has yet to be composed at this point in time, and ends up choosing a love ballad that seemingly perfectly encompasses his and Viktor’s relationship, their love and their story. Using his future experience and his memories of his husband’s coaching, he sets about choreographing a complicated free skate whose technical components <em>easily </em>soars above even Viktor Nikiforov’s <em>Stammi Vicino.</em></p>
<p>He works himself <em>to the bone</em>, throwing himself onto the rink over and over again until he feels <em>confident </em>he can skate each routine with his eyes closed.</p>
<p>Sure, he can’t be <em>100% certain </em>that he won’t make any mistakes—even under Viktor’s coaching, he’d still occasionally flubbed jumps in the future, after all. The only difference is that <em>now,</em> he’s better and faster at getting up again, at running the numbers and recalculating his points in his mind mid-program so he can make up for any deductions, at calming himself so his nerves won’t screw up the rest of his skate.</p>
<p>More importantly, he has <em>faith </em>now.</p>
<p>Faith in himself, in his skating. (<em>In his love.</em>)</p>
<p>And faith, in the end, is all he needs.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>In the days leading up to the Sochi GPF, Yuri spends his nights sneaking into the rink to work on his quads in secret. Yakov still refuses to allow him to do any quad jumps this season, but Yuri can at least <em>practice. </em>He refuses to let his hard-earned skills fade from disuse, after all; he’ll be <em>damned</em> before he lets anyone else catch up to him.</p>
<p>He doesn’t change anything for this season, though. He keeps his programs as they are, knowing that his aging coach would all but have a <em>stroke</em> if he were to change everything at the last minute. Beyond Yakov, the rest of his rink-mates would be suspicious, too, if he “suddenly” became capable of landing jumps on par with Viktor’s and executing step sequences with a level of artistry he lacked until Lilia and then Yuuri.</p>
<p><em>Besides,</em> he reassures himself, <em>I’m still in juniors at this point.</em> Yuri doesn’t remember there being any skaters who posed an actual threat to him in his last year as a junior skater.</p>
<p>Seniors is a different story, of course—where skaters like <em>Viktor Nikiforov</em> and fucking <em>Katsudon</em> exist—but for juniors, at least, he doesn’t <em>need </em>quads.</p>
<p>He’ll win either way, and then after that… <em>after that</em>, the world will start heading in the right direction again. And the life he remembers will become ever clearer.</p>
<p>(He’ll definitely start incorporating his “new” jumps next season, though. <em>That’s</em> a promise.)</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>In the days leading up to the Sochi GPF, Viktor is so, so cold and emotionless and <em>ruthless</em> in his single-minded (read: <em>obsessive</em>) focus on winning first place. It’s reminiscent of Viktor’s media persona, so cool and collected and never allowed to <em>feel </em>things.</p>
<p>Yuri, freshly deposited in 2015 from eight years into the future, watches his legendary rink-mate train—<em>watches him care about nothing but the ice—</em>and feels what must be regret. He remembers vividly that Viktor had been like that—impassive, uncaring, <em>dispassionate</em>—until he’d fallen in love with a loud and boisterous and <em>graceful </em>Japanese skater-slash-pole-dancer one fateful night.</p>
<p>Yuri can’t help but wish Yuuri (2023 Yuuri, <em>his </em>Yuuri) was here. Ever since the day they met, Yuuri’s always been so, so <em>good </em>for Viktor. In his time, Yuuri constantly makes Viktor happier than anything else—even the ice—does, and as much as Yuri claims to resent the old man, he <em>does </em>want to see Viktor happy.</p>
<p><em>Soon, </em>he thinks, <em>promises </em>Viktor. <em>You’ll find happiness soon, old man. You won’t be alone for much longer, so you'd better hold out hope, or you’ll make the damn Katsudon cry and I’ll have to kick your ass.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>Soon. Just you wait.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>short filler chapter, I know, but we'll finally get to the GPF (where there will hopefully be some drama) in the next chapter! :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Sochi</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Grand Prix Finals arrives at last, bringing Yuuri face-to-face with his rival and namesake for the first time in 2015.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sochi is just as Yuuri remembers it. Cold and snowing—unforgiving.</p>
<p>Yuuri takes in a deep, steeling breath as he gazes up at the Grand Prix Finals event venue. Iceberg Skating Palace looms tall before him, a large and imposing behemoth with smooth glass paneling that glimmers in the sunlight, reflecting a different time. A different outcome, Yuuri falling to ashes under the weight of his anxiety and Vicchan’s death.</p>
<p>Things are different now. Yes, Vicchan is still gone, his death a foregone conclusion—there is nothing Yuuri can do to stop it now, nothing he can do to erase Vicchan’s infection that is already in the works. He’s just as devastated as the last time, but now Yuuri can see clearly; rather than drowning under the news of his beloved dog’s death, he’s resolved to taking the news as motivation to work harder than ever before, to honor his dog and redeem himself.</p>
<p>This GPF, he’s skating for not only the husband he’s lost to time, but also the dog who’d loved him unconditionally, even after five years away at Detroit. <em>I’ll dance for both of you, my Viktor and my Vicchan, </em>Yuuri thinks, the telltale sting of tears beginning to spike at the corners of his eyes. <em>I’ll make you both proud.</em></p>
<p>“We should head in and register now,” Celestino hums beside him, “if you really want to watch the junior events. We’re just in time for the second half. You said you wanted to watch Yuri Plisetsky…?”</p>
<p>Yuuri merely nods wordlessly, allowing his coach to guide him inside to registration. After they’ve both signed in, they weave through the familiar crowds, feet taking them to the rink where the junior events are taking place. Yuuri clutches the lanyard of his participant pass tightly, a trickle of unease sliding down his spine. He’d told Celestino that morning that he wanted to come early to watch the junior skaters perform, but now that he’s actually here, he can feel the first drops of hesitation pool within him.</p>
<p>He’d slowly begun to accept his situation over the course of the last week or so as he’d thrown himself into his preparation for the GPF, but that same acceptance is starting to wane once more. He’s not sure he can face them—the people who’d become <em>family </em>to him, people who won’t recognize him today. Strangers and loved ones all at once.</p>
<p>“Yes. I’d like to watch him skate,” he replies to Celestino at last, mustering the courage to smile at his coach. “He’s… certainly a talented skater. From what I’ve seen, he’s been dominating the junior division for a couple of years now.”</p>
<p>“He’s definitely a promising skater,” Celestino agrees. “I’ve heard that he’s due to make his senior debut next year.”</p>
<p>Yuuri barely manages to suppress a flinch at that. <em>Next year, </em>he repeats to himself, the thought enough to make him despair. <em>Yuri hasn’t even joined the senior division yet.</em></p>
<p>It’s hard to imagine Yuri as he once was, young and reckless and full of acerbic wrath—so different from the Yuri he knows, still grouchy at times but far easier to reason with. The years had treated Yuri well, molding him into a seasoned skater with countless medals under his belt. Though still bad-tempered on occasion, Yuri had mellowed out some, especially when he’s around the few people he trusts and calls <em>family.</em> Yuuri counts himself lucky—<em>honored—</em>to be among those few.</p>
<p>“You needn’t worry, Yuuri,” Celestino interrupts Yuuri’s train of thought, mistakenly interpreting Yuuri’s grief and longing. “He’s good, sure, but so are you. In fact, from what I’ve seen over the last week, you hardly need to worry at all. You’ve always been skilled, Yuuri, but lately…” he whistles, low, and shakes his head in incredulous awe. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it. The way you’ve improved, in so small a time-frame… it’s certainly inspiring.”</p>
<p>Yuuri bites back a grimace. “Thanks, coach,” he says instead, offering the man a genuine smile. Celestino had been incredibly patient with him since he’d found himself in his twenty-three year old self’s shoes. Despite doing a complete one-eighty, changing everything about his programs from his theme to the music to the lineup of sequences, Celestino had accepted each alteration with good grace. Sure, he’d been shocked at first, confused at Yuuri’s sudden change in mindset, but that was to be expected.</p>
<p>Yuuri’s just grateful Celestino hadn’t probed <em>too </em>deeply into how he’d somehow become capable of landing three entirely new quads when, just days ago, he hadn’t even been reliably sticking the <em>salchow</em>.</p>
<p>“All right, all right, enough sentimental talk,” Celestino chuckles, the fondness on his face fading into mock sternness. “We need to hurry if you want to catch Plisetsky’s short program—it looks like he’s up next.”</p>
<p>Together, they promptly hustle to one of the viewer lounges reserved for the men’s senior division. When they arrive, sliding into two seats just in time to see Yuri Plisetsky step into the rink, Yuuri finds that there are already a few skaters present. He isn’t too surprised—Yuri isn’t the only junior skater who’ll be entering the senior division soon, and it’s only logical to scope out any potential competition in advance.</p>
<p>Yuuri shakes his head and redirects his attention to the rink. He watches, wide-eyed, as Yuri skates his way to the center of the rink, his movements fluid and graceful.</p>
<p><em>God, he’s tiny, </em>Yuuri can’t help but think, the observation emerging the second he lays eyes on this Yuri Plisetsky. The Yuri he remembers has already grown into his full height—Yuri ends up taller than even <em>him</em>, eight years from now. And it’s not just his height that’s different: as an adult, Yuri had filled out some—not enough to be considered bulky, but he was certainly <em>built</em>. But this Yuri Plisetsky, not even a senior skater yet, bears little resemblance to that future vision; the Yuri he sees now is lean and petite, willowy and slender, and it’s an unsettling sight.</p>
<p>Yuuri shakes off the shock with a heavy sigh. He’d <em>known </em>things were going to be different. It’s time he comes to term with those differences.</p>
<p><em>Yes, </em>he makes up his mind. <em>If I’m stuck here, I need to start living and making the most of it. This is the Yuri of today. And different or not, he’s still Yuri.</em></p>
<p>“Yuri!” he calls out, cupping his hands around his mouth. He’ll cheer for Yuri no matter which version of Yuri it is—even if it’s a version who doesn’t yet know him. He once promised to support Yuri always, and he has no intention of backing out now. “<em>Ganbatte, </em>Yuri!”</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Yuri is in the middle of the ice rink when he hears it: amidst a chorus of <em>davai, Yuri!</em> and <em>good luck!, </em>he hears one lone <em>ganbatte, Yuri. </em>The Japanese phrase, along with the familiar voice that speaks it, makes him stop short. He turns, just enough to see Katsudon in the stands, sitting on the edge of his seat with a surprisingly invested look on his face.</p>
<p>Yuri blinks in surprise. <em>I didn’t know he watched me skate last time. And he said my name—I didn’t even realize he knew who I was until I yelled at him in that bathroom, </em>he ponders, and then flushes irrationally, trying to tamp down a pleased smile.</p>
<p>
  <em>Stupid Katsudon.</em>
</p>
<p>His smile morphs into a determined scowl. <em>I’ll show you, </em>he thinks fiercely, and what he really means is <em>I’ll make you proud</em>. But Yuuri doesn’t know him yet—doesn’t have any reason <em>to </em>be proud of a virtual stranger—so he swallows the longing and settles for: <em>Just you watch, I’ll give you one more reason to skate.</em></p>
<p>He’s Yuuri’s <em>rival</em>, after all, and he’d prove why today. He’d prove it to <em>everyone.</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So Yuri and Yuuri still don't know the other is back in time with them, but their reunion is coming soon, I promise! </p>
<p>Also, full disclosure: I know almost nothing about ice skating. I'm not sure how the GPF/JGPF schedule works (maybe I'm right, probably I'm wrong), but for the purposes of this story, I'm working under the impression that the order goes as follows (for junior men's and senior men's):</p>
<p>Day 1:<br/>Morning: JGPF short program<br/>Afternoon: GPF short program</p>
<p>Day 2:<br/>Morning: JPGF free program<br/>Afternoon: GPF free program<br/>Evening: awards ceremony</p>
<p>Day 3: Exhibition gala<br/></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Junior Men's Short Program of the 2015 JGPF finally arrives, and 2023-Yuri makes his first mark on the figure skating world of 2015. Watching as his young student skates with a newfound inspiration, Yakov can't help but think that <em>something</em> is off.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As soon as Yuri makes his way off the ice, he’s met with Yakov at the side of the rink, his skate guards in hand and an unreadable look on his face. As Yakov herds him to the Kiss and Cry, his brows furrowed in confusion and his usual tirade of <em>everything </em>Yuri did wrong missing, Yuri hides a smug smirk. It’s rare that he manages to render his gruff coach speechless—the last time he did that is probably his first gold medal win at the GPF as a freshly debuting senior skater.</p><p>“Wipe that smile off your face,” Yakov grumbles in annoyance once they’re seated at the Kiss and Cry, and Yuri realizes he let a trace of his satisfaction slip through. “At least until your scores are up,” he adds.</p><p><em>Oh, well. Yakov’s silence was nice while it lasted,</em> Yuri mourns. “Come on. We both know that no one else’s performance even comes <em>close</em> to mine,” he snorts.</p><p>Yakov glares at him, and Yuri rolls his eyes but dutifully drops the pleased smile.</p><p>A second later, his scores are posted and Yuri’s smile rises anew. The crowd’s cheers are <em>deafening, </em>drowned out only by the announcers’ hysterical—disbelieving—screeching.</p><p>Yakov mutters incoherently under his breath—something that sounds suspiciously like <em>arrogant brat </em>and <em>why me—</em>but not even he can deny that Yuri’s earned the right to be a little arrogant. Only <em>fourteen, </em>and he’s already blown away the rest of his competition with a short program score that could realistically put him on par with <em>top senior skaters.</em></p><p>It’s unbelievable. Unprecedented, even for him—the coach of <em>Viktor Nikiforov, </em>four-time GPF and Worlds gold medallist, the single most decorated athlete in figure skating history.</p><p>The only thing Yuri’s missing now is Viktor’s toolkit of quads.</p><p>(If only he knew.)</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Yuri doesn’t have to go online to know that his Angels are doubtlessly already freaking out over his performance.</p><p>If he <em>were </em>to go on social media, though, he would have seen his fanbase having a complete meltdown on Twitter:</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Yura’s Angels @yurip_officialfc</b>
</p><p>Our precious Yurotchka is leading the scoreboard for the GPF Junior Men’s competition after his spectacular SP today! He finished his SP with a new personal best! And get this: no one, not even his legendary rinkmate Viktor Nikiforov, has ever scored so highly on their SP in the junior league. Our Yura not only finished first, but he also made history in the process. Congratulations, Yura!! We’ll all be rooting for you tomorrow, too!</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>lance @lancelot1542</b>
</p><p>asdfghjkl holy cow!!! who knew Plisetsky had it in him??</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Marianna @marianna_k</b>
</p><p>what was THAT?? We all know Plisetsky’s a strong contender with his flawless jumps, but I’ve never seen him score so highly on his PCS before</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>dead inside @foreveramood</b>
</p><p>that was INSANE</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Future Mrs. Plisetsky @lovefromrussia</b>
</p><p>Viktor Nikiforov who?? Yuri Plisetsky is going to be the next Living Legend of Russia and no one can convince me otherwise</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>&gt; Rosa K @skate4lyfe</b>
</p><p>I agree. And I heard Plisetsky's senior debut is next season! All I can say is: the senior skaters had better watch out!!!</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>watch out @forthoseknifeshoes</b>
</p><p>I’m not an Angel, but even I can admit that that was a BEAUTIFUL performance from Plisetsky</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>&gt; miss bee @itsbreannabitch</b>
</p><p>Hell, I’m not a figure skating fan, period, but even I agree with you! I was just watching the Junior Men’s short programs for the GPF today on a whim when I came across Plisetsky’s. Genuinely took my breath away!!</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Yuri’s Queen @yurip5ever</b>
</p><p>forget his score—we all knew no one stood a chance against him today. but did you guys SEE the look on his face before his SP!?</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>&gt; First Angel @yurisno1fan</b>
</p><p>holy shit yes!! I thought I was the only one who noticed—I’ve never seen Yurotchka smile like that before!!!</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>&gt;&gt; Mila B. @therealmilababicheva ✓</b>
</p><p>can confirm. our yura never ever smiles!!! who are you and what have you done w/ our rinkmate @yuri-plisetsky? 🧐</p><p> </p><p>In summary, the skating world is <em>shaken</em> by Yuri’s performance.</p><p>Little do they know: it’s only the beginning.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>But as it is, Yuri hasn’t in fact had the chance to browse social media yet. He hasn’t had the privilege of watching the Internet break down because of him.</p><p>Instead, he endures the criticism of his coach and Living Legend rinkmate.</p><p>“Your step sequences could use some polishing,” Viktor notes.</p><p>Yuri resists the urge to roll his eyes. Viktor hadn’t even bothered to take a second to congratulate him before pouncing. “Yeah, yeah,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’d have liked to see <em>you</em> skate like that at my age,” he snarks, barely managing to stop himself before he can tack on his usual insulting nickname of <em>old man. </em>For some reason, he can’t bear the thought of likening this Viktor with the one he remembers from the future, the one who’d become his co-coach and choreographer and friend.</p><p>(Family.)</p><p>Calling <em>this</em> Viktor “old man,” as if they are one and the same, would taste like a lie. Yuri knows he has to move on <em>eventually</em>, but he isn’t ready. Not yet.</p><p>Before Viktor can retort, Yakov steps in, “He has a point. Your scores were impressive, I’ll concede, but they could still be <em>better</em>. Your steps sequences could do with some improvements. You’re lacking in the artistry department—although I’ll admit that you’ve already improved by leaps and bounds in that area.”</p><p>Yuri‘s witty retort dies on his tongue, and he hums contemplatively. He knows Yakov is telling the truth—even as he’d skated, he’d <em>felt </em>it, the absence of something crucial. The story. <em>His</em> story. “I know. You’re right,” he agrees begrudgingly. “When I transitioned from that camel spin in the middle to the combo—it could have flowed smoother.”</p><p>Yakov’s eyes snap wide open in disbelief, his shock nearly tripping him mid-step. “I’m... I’m – <em>right</em>?” he splutters in disbelief. Viktor, too, is staring wide-eyed at Yuri, nose scrunched in confusion. Yakov shakes his head and demands, a twinge of worry spiking in his chest despite himself, “Did you hit your head or something?”</p><p>Yuri narrows his eyes at the two of them. <em>Yes. I hit my head nine days ago and now I’m a completely different person, </em>he thinks, but knows he cannot say. “Stop staring at me like I’m crazy,” he snaps instead, huffing irritably. “I <em>can</em> admit to my own mistakes, you know. My step sequences”—<em>are trash compared to Katsudon’s—</em>“leave something to be desired.”</p><p>Yakov gawks.</p><p>Viktor <em>beams.</em> “Wow, Yuri!” he enthuses, slinging an arm over Yuri’s shoulders. “Amazing! So mature!”</p><p>“Wha— get <em>off </em>me, Nikiforov!” Yuri thunders, throwing Viktor’s arm off him with a scathing glare. He pointedly steps away from Viktor, seamlessly switching over to Yakov’s other side so that the senior coach is separating him and Viktor, and immediately changes the subject, “All right. Back to my program. I need to revamp my step sequences. I could switch up my footwork before my layback spin here...”</p><p>Yakov stares and listens dumbly as his most stubborn student actually <em>pays attention to</em> his own mistakes, Yuri’s stream of words sounding like something from a dream. Yuri had simply launched into a detailed assessment of his own program without any prompting, and without so much as a word of protest, as if it’s the most <em>normal</em> thing in the world.</p><p>And somehow—<em>miraculously—</em>Yuri manages to point out the <em>exact</em> same mistakes that had briefly flitted through Yakov’s mind before Yuri’s score went up.</p><p>Which, well... when the <em>hell</em> had Yuri become self-aware enough to point out his own flaws and areas for improvement?</p><p>Yakov isn’t ashamed to admit that he’s <em>stunned</em> into silence, because for as long as he’s known the kid, Yuri has <em>never </em>cared about where he falls short, only paying attention to the end result; so long as he gets gold, Yuri doesn’t think anything else matters. That’s how it’s always been.</p><p>Except something is <em>different </em>now. Because <em>this</em> time, Yuri <em>does </em>seem to care<em>, </em>and Yakov doesn’t know <em>where</em> this humility is coming from.</p><p>So, of course, he does the only thing he can: he asks, “Why? You’ve never pretended to care about fixing your errors before. What changed?”</p><p>Yuri exhales a breath through gritted teeth and falls silent, nearly stopping short in the middle of the hallway. It’s only muscle memory that keeps him trailing absentmindedly after Yakov as he ruminates on Yakov’s searching question and quietly thinks of the stupid Katsudon, who used to remind him everyday that no matter <em>how</em> skilled you become, you have to expect that there will always be someone <em>better</em> than you.</p><p>Yuuri <em>never</em> let Yuri forget that. It’s Yuuri, therefore, who drilled into Yuri the habit of reviewing his performances in his mind and picking them apart with a critical eye; it’s <em>Yuuri </em>who made sure Yuri learned the importance of building on his mistakes rather than simply turning a blind eye to them.</p><p>(Amidst the silence, as Yakov stares at his troubled student—<em>weird, Yuri never hesitates to speak his mind, and he always has something to say</em>—out of the corner of his eye, he can’t help but remember every strange second of the last few days since Yuri’s unexpected fall on the ice. He remembers Yuri’s strange behavior after he regained his bearings; Yuri had acted like a completely different person, claiming that he had a new coach—<em>Catsoo-something</em> or other—and staring at <em>Yakov </em>like he had two heads when he looked confused instead of the other way around.</p><p>That, Yakov reflects now, is when everything started to change with Yuri.</p><p>Yuri had acted <em>oddly</em> ever since, putting more effort into his training than ever before and actually <em>listening </em>to Yakov’s advice—<em>for once</em>.)</p><p>(Yakov doesn’t know it, but that’s only because Yuuri and Viktor has long since demonstrated to Yuri the necessity of listening to one’s coach. Yuuri, especially—because god knows Viktor himself never listened to <em>his </em>coach before meeting Yuuri—had never let Yuri get away with ignoring either of their instructions, sometimes going so far as to withhold his famous katsudon dinners from Yuri, who was forced to watch as Viktor—that annoying bastard—wolfed down both their shares with obvious delight.)</p><p>Yuri shrugs finally, forcefully pushing the thought of Yuuri out of his mind. <em>This isn’t the time, </em>he reminds himself. “Well, I’m about to have my senior debut, aren’t I?” he deflects, making up an excuse on the fly. It’s as good an excuse as any, he figures. “If I’m going to compete with other senior skaters and <em>him</em>”—he jerkily nods his head at Viktor—“I’m going to need to work on my technique.”</p><p>Yakov raises his eyebrows in surprise. “That’s... surprisingly sensible of you, Yuri,” he remarks. “I didn’t take you as the type for forethought.”</p><p>“Well, I have to be if I want to beat Viktor Nikiforov.” Yuri pauses, lets that sentence sink in, and points at Viktor with a challenging glare, “And mark my words, Nikiforov: I <em>will </em>crush you.”</p><p>Viktor smiles at the challenge, but there’s a lackluster quality to his smile that gives Yuri pause. “Who knows?” Viktor hums. “You might just be able to beat me next year—that is, if I don’t retire first.”</p><p>A bone-rattling chill sweeps through Yuri’s entire body, settling inside his ribcage. <em>No, </em>he refuses to believe it. <em>No way. This can’t be happening. Not yet.</em></p><p>“What!?” Yakov shrieks, saving Yuri from finding a reasonable reply to that admission that isn’t <em>what the fuck, you’re doing this </em>wrong, <em>you stupid geezer. </em>“What do you mean, <em>retire</em>?” he hisses, just barely remembering to lower his voice enough to keep the conversation between the three of them. Thank God for that—Yuri shudders to imagine what would happen if this news were to spread so early in the timeline.</p><p>Viktor just smiles ruefully. “I’m <em>bored, </em>Yakov. You <em>know </em>this—you know I’ve just been going through the motions lately,” he says, and it’s the bleakness of his voice that terrifies Yuri. “I was hesitant at first, but now... your skating still has room for improvement, Yuri, but you’re certainly getting there. Which means that even <em>if </em>I retire after this season, Russia will still have a hero.” He explains all of this matter-of-factly, as if he’s reporting the weather instead of announcing news that shakes Yuri’s world to its core.</p><p>Yuri stares at Viktor in disbelief. <em>This isn’t right, </em>he thinks, horrified. <em>Is this because of the changes I’ve made? Because of how I skated? I know I did better than my first time at Sochi, but... for Viktor to consider retirement this early—</em></p><p>Yuri <em>knows</em> Viktor is supposed to take a break after this season anyway, but... <em>not like this. </em>Not because of <em>Yuri.</em></p><p><em>Goddamnit, Viktor, you stupid old man, </em>he thinks angrily. <em>You’re supposed to wait for your stupid husband. Fuck.</em></p><p>“Shut up,” he hisses, desperation and anger rearing up inside him in equal measure. Desperation to <em>fix this, </em>to make this right and return the timeline to its original course. Anger at Viktor and himself both; anger at the path they’re taking. “<em>Shut the hell up, </em>Nikiforov. Like you said: I’m getting there. But I’m <em>not there yet. </em>You’re not allowed to decide to retire before I have a chance to compete against you, goddamnit.” <em>Before you meet your husband on the ice. </em>“You’re <em>not </em>getting out of this that easily.”</p><p>Viktor stares at him in bewilderment, no doubt wondering where this came from. “Yuri—”</p><p>“Look, you <em>never know</em>, okay?” he snaps. “I’m not the only threat to your reign. Resigning yourself to quitting <em>now</em>, before the competition even starts—before you’ve even given your competitors the chance to prove themselves—is both arrogant and <em>insulting.</em>”</p><p><em>Never discount your competition, Yura, </em>Yuuri used to say, stern but not unkind, as he forced Yuri to watch every qualifier competition, whether or not he knows anyone competing in it. <em>Always prepare as if there’s going to be someone better than you. That’s how you show your respect in this sport. It’s the only way this works.</em></p><p>Viktor’s jaw is unhinged. He’s dumbfounded gaze darts back and forth between Yuri—seething and ferocious—and Yakov—stoic and barely keeping a lid on his own anger at Viktor’s impulsiveness—for a few seconds, before he frowns and the surprise dies away. “I’ve been unchallenged in this sport for five years—at the top for even longer. My scores are <em>untouchable. </em>No one even comes close.”</p><p>Yuri isn’t sure how he <em>feels </em>about Viktor’s words, an echo of his own sentiments mere minutes ago.</p><p>For as long as he remembers, he’s tried to pull Viktor and Yuuri apart with scathing words and disgusted sneers of <em>stop turning this competition into a lovey-dovey bet, </em>and <em>don’t you dare make out in front of me, </em>and <em>no one wants to see you two flirt, for god’s sake</em>, but now that Viktor is actually denying the possibility of a rival—denying <em>Yuuri’s existence</em>—with everything he has…</p><p>If Yuuri, the Yuuri <em>he </em>knows, could hear Viktor now, he’d cry.</p><p>And Yuri <em>hates </em>it when Yuuri cries. He usually hides his concern behind a veil of anger, muttering for Yuuri to <em>stop blubbering, there’s no way I’m going to let anyone who shares my name cry like that, </em>but Yuri knows that Yuuri has never been fooled.</p><p>Right now, though—<em>right now, </em>Yuri’s standing in a world where Viktor <em>doesn’t yet know the love of his life exists. </em>Where Viktor has resigned himself to a lonely, isolated future, separated from the rest of his competition by tens of points.</p><p>It’s almost sad. When Yuri thinks about how heartbroken Yuuri would be if he could hear this, it’s <em>more </em>than sad. Yuri’s always known, after all, that Yuuri had relit a dying spark inside Viktor; that Yuuri had breathed passion and inspiration back into the living legend. That Yuuri had trained himself into the ground just so he could pose an honest-to-god <em>challenge </em>to Viktor, enough that Viktor would actually have to <em>try.</em></p><p>“Take that back. <em>Take it back, </em>asshole,” Yuri growls vehemently, and Viktor startles. Viktor’s words from a different time—<em>I don’t care if you win gold or not, I want to be Viktor Katsuki-Nikiforov, </em>and <em>I want to support you for the rest of our lives, Yuuri, </em>and <em>Yurio, we’ve talked it over and we’d be honored if you agreed to be the ring-bearer at our wedding, </em>and <em>Katsuki Yuuri, I never believed I could be this lucky, but here I am: the luckiest man in the world, with a husband like you at my side, </em>and <em>I will love you ‘till the end of time, come rain or shine, my beloved Yuuri</em>—flash through his mind in the span of a split-second.</p><p>And in that split-second, Yuri knows <em>exactly </em>how he feels about Viktor’s words.</p><p>(<em>“All I want is to make him happy, always,” Viktor says, the sentimental old sap.</em></p><p><em>“Why the fuck are you telling </em>me<em> this?” Yuri hisses in disgust, but when Viktor drops his head and smiles softly, fondly, foolishly at his ring, Yuri feels the faintest sweep of envy in his stomach that reminds him he will never be as lucky as Viktor and Yuuri, so obviously and endlessly in love. “I knew you had a screw loose, old man, but—“</em></p><p><em>“I don’t know if I’m good enough,” he whispers it like a confession, a sin, and Yuri faintly wonders how much he’s had to drink, to be loose-lipped enough to spill his guts to Yuri of all people. “I don’t know if I </em>can <em>make him as happy as he deserves to be.”</em></p><p>
  <em>Yuri says nothing, snarling something angry and scathing at Viktor that he doesn’t register before storming off in a rush. But even as he leaves, Viktor already beginning to doze off behind him, Yuri knows the truth: there is no one better for Katsuki Yuuri than Viktor Nikiforov.</em>
</p><p><em>There is no one who loves Yuuri more.</em>)</p><p>They’re <em>wrong.</em></p><p><em>Viktor’s </em>wrong.</p><p>(<em>...I should have told him he was good enough, </em>Yuri thinks now, staring at a Viktor who has no idea what it feels like to be in love. <em>Fucking hell. I guess I have to step up as Past Viktor’s wingman now to make up for my silence.</em>)</p><p>“Just you wait,” he declares. “I have a feeling this GPF is going to be one for the ages.”</p><p>Viktor blinks, more than a little disbelief and doubt clouding his gaze, but—</p><p>Yuri’s heated glare never wavers. <em>Believe me, </em>his glare says. <em>This GPF is going to throw your world off its axis. For once, you’re going to be the one surprised instead of the other way around.</em></p><p>Viktor might not get to meet a rival <em>yet, </em>but at the very least, this GPF comes with an unforgettable banquet that will leave Viktor reeling and <em>falling.</em></p><p>Slowly, surely, like the rays of a radiant sun breaking through the clouds, Viktor <em>smiles. </em>“All right,” he agrees. “Let’s see what this GPF has in store for us.”</p><p>Yakov breathes an inaudible sigh of relief.</p><p>Yuri would never admit it even in the face of death, but he does, too.</p>
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